OOC: More Meri writings... and they're current time! :D
Drip. Drip. Drip.
As icy cool water splashes down the inner curve of his lower back, sliding apathetically down the warm, smooth planes of his lower back only to soak a rumpled sheet that was soon cast aside, the wind outside the weyr howled like a thing unleashed for the hunt, and M'eri scratched his head.
Short, black hair, vivid blue eyes, and six foot three of solid, scarred muscle. That was M'eri. M'eri, formerly Meridian of Liozen and Niada at Keroon Hold, recently turned thirty-five. He had no grey in his hair just yet and there failed to be a day when he could not hold his liquor or keep up with people half his age in bed.
Why, then, exactly, could this normally jovial and scatterbrained bluerider be found now pacing the room with long, stalking strides, one hand still behind his head as the other is used to gesture wildly along with his darting thoughts? The figure in bed, nameless and insignificant, rolls slowly over onto its side, turning away from him and seeking out the depths of a more conscientious sleep. On the ledge, a more important figure sheathed in icy blue hues merely rolls one eye open before closing it with a soft burble of mirth.
Thirty-five and still lacking the good sense Faranth gave a runner.
Runners. That was what was driving him mad. That's what drove him out of a perfectly comfortable bed with a perfectly warm body to pace around like a daft idiot while it was raining enough to get Noah nervous but a few twenty or so feet away. The smell of hay, the tang of sweat, taut muscles under hot skin, and long, silky hair the color of gold-tinted straw. M'eri had done everything he could to break this one so far, more than it usually took. He'd been polite and direct, he'd been rough and mean, he'd even bordered on cruel, but hadn't yet had the heart to drive the knife so deeply, and yet this single one, a wild stallion if there ever was one, felt the need to resist him at every turn and kept coming back as though it all rolled right off his broad shoulders.
M'eri's fingernails bit into his palm and he felt the slick heat of blood pooling beneath his fingernails before he let them go lax. There had never been a time when M'eri's self-imposed emotional bereftness had been so strongly challenged, never been anyone willing to push the bluerider to the edge, because he would take it there and beyond to keep his forced way of freedom, something that had structured a cage around him that even he rarely saw. He licked the small cuts in his hand to quell the bleeding while he moved to the kitchen, taking down the first aid kit his brother had gotten him for his turnday a long time ago and sticking some disinfectant and bandaids on it. Not bad injuries, but it was something to do, and it'd kill his lifestyle to have infections in his palms.
Even as he stroked the cool lid of the first aid kit, his mind wandered again to the scent of sweet grass and sunlight striking something warm and gold. He clenched his jaw and frowned darkly, raking his few scatted bangs from his eyes before he pushed away from the counter and turned to stalk back towards the bed, rather brusquely turning the body there over for another round of what had already been sampled multiple times already.
It was a draining task, trying to erase burned images from one's mind, and it was likely that his mate for the evening would give up before M'eri would, simply by the fervor of determined frustration alone.
It didn't help that all he could think about was runners in the rain.
Runner/s is just 'code' for a person. Thank you. XD
As icy cool water splashes down the inner curve of his lower back, sliding apathetically down the warm, smooth planes of his lower back only to soak a rumpled sheet that was soon cast aside, the wind outside the weyr howled like a thing unleashed for the hunt, and M'eri scratched his head.
Short, black hair, vivid blue eyes, and six foot three of solid, scarred muscle. That was M'eri. M'eri, formerly Meridian of Liozen and Niada at Keroon Hold, recently turned thirty-five. He had no grey in his hair just yet and there failed to be a day when he could not hold his liquor or keep up with people half his age in bed.
Why, then, exactly, could this normally jovial and scatterbrained bluerider be found now pacing the room with long, stalking strides, one hand still behind his head as the other is used to gesture wildly along with his darting thoughts? The figure in bed, nameless and insignificant, rolls slowly over onto its side, turning away from him and seeking out the depths of a more conscientious sleep. On the ledge, a more important figure sheathed in icy blue hues merely rolls one eye open before closing it with a soft burble of mirth.
Thirty-five and still lacking the good sense Faranth gave a runner.
Runners. That was what was driving him mad. That's what drove him out of a perfectly comfortable bed with a perfectly warm body to pace around like a daft idiot while it was raining enough to get Noah nervous but a few twenty or so feet away. The smell of hay, the tang of sweat, taut muscles under hot skin, and long, silky hair the color of gold-tinted straw. M'eri had done everything he could to break this one so far, more than it usually took. He'd been polite and direct, he'd been rough and mean, he'd even bordered on cruel, but hadn't yet had the heart to drive the knife so deeply, and yet this single one, a wild stallion if there ever was one, felt the need to resist him at every turn and kept coming back as though it all rolled right off his broad shoulders.
M'eri's fingernails bit into his palm and he felt the slick heat of blood pooling beneath his fingernails before he let them go lax. There had never been a time when M'eri's self-imposed emotional bereftness had been so strongly challenged, never been anyone willing to push the bluerider to the edge, because he would take it there and beyond to keep his forced way of freedom, something that had structured a cage around him that even he rarely saw. He licked the small cuts in his hand to quell the bleeding while he moved to the kitchen, taking down the first aid kit his brother had gotten him for his turnday a long time ago and sticking some disinfectant and bandaids on it. Not bad injuries, but it was something to do, and it'd kill his lifestyle to have infections in his palms.
Even as he stroked the cool lid of the first aid kit, his mind wandered again to the scent of sweet grass and sunlight striking something warm and gold. He clenched his jaw and frowned darkly, raking his few scatted bangs from his eyes before he pushed away from the counter and turned to stalk back towards the bed, rather brusquely turning the body there over for another round of what had already been sampled multiple times already.
It was a draining task, trying to erase burned images from one's mind, and it was likely that his mate for the evening would give up before M'eri would, simply by the fervor of determined frustration alone.
It didn't help that all he could think about was runners in the rain.
Runner/s is just 'code' for a person. Thank you. XD