(Vignette) Danorath takes advantage of late night timing to bring up difficult issues with Erissa.


It is late night of the seventh day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Danorath's Den, Igen Weyr

OOC Date


erissa14.jpg ice2.jpg


Danorath's Den

This average-sized, smooth rock-hewn weyr is saved from monotony by the whims of it's occupants. A varied collection of second-hand furniture and decor make the space livable, even homey in a vagabond sort of way. No particular theme nor color dominates but instead a mis-matched collection of serviceable items that caught the eye or interest of rider or dragon gives the space a chaotic sort of charm.

A single CHAIR, two-seat LOUNGE, and low TABLE form an inviting niche to sit a spell, while a double-wide BED without a frame, a WARDROBE, and small CHEST delineate the bedroom. She even managed to find a RUG or two to soften the stoney floor.

«Are you happy?»

The question comes as subtly as the tide sneaks up on the beach, slipping in beneath the waves like an undertow. Erissa stirs, pushing her cheek against her pillow. Sleep was almost upon her, thoughts drifting away as peaceful oblivion encroached.

Of course….. is her distracted answer.

If she was more awake such a question would have instantly raised suspicion or curiosity but the bluerider is too sleepy to do more than answer now - a fact on which Danorath is counting.

«You have friends here.»

The negative mental mumble that replies is automatic - her usual response ingrained so deep that she denies it without thinking. In its wake the blue finds the perfect opening to cast a series of images. The muscular brownrider. Erissa smiles unconsciously. The sandy-haired competitor. Erissa stretches out an arm, lips curling into a grin. The blue-robed woman. Erissa curls her fingers into the blanket. The faces begin to blur, hints of various ones she’d interacted with in a pleasant enough manner. One youthful face in particular focuses briefly with a hint of humored hues coloring the vision, conjured by the fact that Erissa is currently laying on the mattress that lass helped acquire. Lastly a tentative image, very vague at first and never clearly seen, but one tinged with a thin thread of hope. It would be so much easier to get close to the lovely little green if Erissa didn’t dislike her rider so. But even the hint of that one causes pale brows to knit inward so it’s quickly withdrawn.

The wily blue has a goal, however, so draws back the visage of the other bluerider, mingling the enjoyment of the challenges they’d shared with the disturbance of their last encounter in the Bazaar.

«This one would be. You find him attractive.»

Erissa groans and turns over, lifting one arm over her brow.

Quit playing matchmaker, Dano! He wants to be friends. I’m trying. You know it’s not easy for me.

«It would be a good thing.»

Why? We’ve gotten along fine this far with just you and me.

Mental breezes whirl closer, warm with love. Yes, but…

«He cares. You should consider what he said.»

Cha’el. N’cal had tried to push her about her current relationship with the muscular brownrider who’d been her lover at Ista. Erissa sighs heavily and turns her face into the pillow.

Don’t go there, Dano. No one cares about me like you do. You’re all I need.

The caress of sun-warmed wind is backed by stern intent. Point A to point B - logical and progressive. The blue persists.

«You need more. It is unhealthy to be alone.» When Erissa veers away he pushes gently. «What happened before will not happen again. Igen is not High Reaches, nor Ista. Different place. Different people. You can not keep pushing them away.»

Yes I can! It’s safer this way.

In his couch, Danorath turns faceted eyes toward the large bed where Erissa lies, breath huffing from his nostrils in a short burst. He knows full well how thin the oblivious confidence his bonded wears so well really is.

«You are worth the risk.»

You would say that, my love. But it’s not worth risking the pain again.

«Sometimes it is.»

Now it’s Erissa’s turn to snort as she turns over and shoves the pillow with a fist to get it placed just right.

«You should give this one a chance.» Taking advantage of his bond’s open frame of mind the image appears suddenly, the blue already prepared for the expected reaction by flooding her mind with the soothing calm of quiet ocean depths.

DANO! Anger flares, is doused, and simmers. Her fingers curl into a decorative pillow with pretty silver tassels and throw it blindly in the blue’s direction, not coming anywhere near the target of her annoyance. How can you even suggest that after how he’s treated me??

Memory serves up the most recent encounter with her greenriding nemesis: the horrible things they’d said to each other in Cha’el’s weyr; the harsh slap of her palm across his cheek. Instead of responding with words, Danorath first taps into those memories, going farther back, and offers up others: the riders standing near a broken wagon; K’vvan helping Erissa mount, her hands too numbed by an accident to do it herself; sitting behind her and securing them both during flight; ensuring she got home and helping her dismount.

Erissa balks at the helpful tone of the images.

«He did not tell the traders what you did.» Danorath points out what she had conveniently submerged. «Or insist you go to the healers.» Those nosy crafters would have raised awkward questions and gotten her in trouble with the Weyrleader who is also her Wingleader. «For hating you so much, it was no small thing.»

Erissa sits up in bed, the multiple layers of blankets that she keeps as covering falling to her lap as she twists to look toward Danorath’s couch.

What are you trying to say, Danorath? The demand is still posed in anger, use of the dragon’s full name never a good sign. Dark blue hues gilded with silvery gray pick up on the faint shimmers that the stocky dragon’s multi-faceted eyes catch and reflect even in shadow.

Coached in soft hues that ebb and flow with a soothing rhythm the blue replies, «Maybe that is what Cha’el sees.»

OUCH! No matter how gently framed, the words still sting. Not only do they insinuate that the person she hates the most might not be as bad as she thought, but then using something that had puzzled her greatly to propose why there seemed to be a bond between the scrawny man and her brownrider left the blond woman reeling.

NO! Damn you, Dano! Why’re you doing this to me?? You’re supposed to be on MY side!

The flood of warm reassurance is instant, a rustle of movement crossing the quiet weyr as the dragon shifts in his couch.

«You are ALWAYS the first and most important thing to me! I could not love you more.» There’s a short pause wherein Erissa closes her eyes and breathes in deeply as the empathetic blue overwhelms her mind with those sentiments; calming the riot of fear, betrayal, and anger. Then, a soft but firm invitation, «Come.»

With only the barest of stubborn pauses, Erissa slips from her blankets and pulls the topmost one off, taking it with her as she pads across the weyr and steps down into the niche that is the dragon’s bed. The room is cool on her bare skin, the thin sleeveless nightshirt and panties she wore to sleep in not much protection outside the cozy cocoon her bedding provides. Pulling the blanket around slender shoulders, she hunches beneath the soft texture of the material. Fresh rushes poke her bare feet in the couch. Sliding one hand along the warm hide of his muzzle and over headknobs she finds the crook of his lowered neck and curls up within it, the steady, heavy beat of his heart like a soft drumbeat against her back. His head comes round to lie at her feet, one great eye a mesmerizing field of winking glimmers.

“I’m so blasted confused. I don’t want to think about it anymore,” Erissa whispers aloud, her voice cracking on a tight whimper.

«Shhhhhh….» A hiss of breath spills across her calves. «Sleep. I will say no more.»

Gratitude colors her emotions, underscored by a fierce vulnerability. A few quiet moments pass. With the strength of their bond Erissa finds a thread of humor to conjure one last sleepy question.

When did you turn into such a nosy old Auntie?

The reply is quick and blunt. «When you turned into such a cranky old Uncle.»

DANO! The reprimand is met with silence, those deep dark depths of confident support rippling once with a dragonic chuckle then lulling her into the embrace of peaceful sleep.

Add a New Comment