- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy. Modern. Romance. Slice of life. I can persuaded to play more, it's all about plot, really.
Oleander, Milo & Mae'lyrra
At first she had been surprised. The prospect of basic hospitality had made her look forward to entering the village of the metal Nera, but that was not what awaited them. They were received with far greater honor and kindness. They were served food fit for royalty and at first it had left Mae’lyrra completely speechless. Everything was delicious and tasty. The wine and ale they were offered was flavorful and warming. Some of it reminded her of some of the feasts they held among the Sunfeather tribe. It made her miss her people and Maglin. And then her thoughts wandered to the harvest festivals in the Painted Mountains and sadness washed over her. Every time she thought of what had happened there, Mae’lyrra had to remind herself that the people were rebuilding and they would survive.
She was seated at the table with Baloryx in her lap. He curiously let his snout move toward her plate each time she took more food. From time to time she would throw him a piece of meat which he devoured gratefully. Baloryx didn’t say much. He was more quiet than some of the other hatchlings. Most of the time, when he did speak, you could hear a rumbling coming from somewhere in his chest. Only when agitated or when playing around would he occasionally screech. To her great surprise and satisfaction, he remained relatively calm as they ate.
Every time her cup was empty, someone would fill it and when her plate was empty someone would offer her more food. Mae’lyrra ate until she was full before she politely said no. Some of the Nera asked about her home and her garb, wondering where she came from and what her people were like. Likewise did she ask them questions about themselves and their traditions. One of her great joys in life was to meet new people. And the metal Nera she had never met before.
Clunk!
With surprisingly little to announce her arrival at the table, Oleander had half set half dropped an empty metal mug from her standing height straight down beside Mae. Swaying ever so slightly with a stupid grin plastered across her face, she suddenly buckled and dropped to her knees, putting her at a somewhat appropriate level for the table. Pushing the mug forward, she motioned for a refill to no one in particular before realizing she’d planted herself next to the tribal two-leg. Mae’lyrra.
Apart from witnessing some of her magic, Oleander had done fairly well at avoiding the woman. It wasn’t difficult to tell she was from Maglin, Oleander’s former Herd had ranged enough to know all sorts in their territory. The garb, attitude, and tone was just too much of home for Oleander to deal with. Mug refilled, her eyes narrowed as she took a drink, acting as if she just hadn’t noticed the woman and her dragon beside her.
"N-no, no M-misty! No chewin'!" Milo skittered from his seat rather suddenly, as the smoke grey dragon scampered from his lap to nibble on a tray of roasted fish across from Mae'lyrra and Oleander. Flushed about the nose, the Amalfi dragged the dragon back into his lap and wide eyed, sank back in his seat, "Sorry! Sorry! Got away from m-me!"
With her head tilted and a smirk playing about her lips, she had studied Oleander. It was clear to see that the Esquirian had enjoyed herself. That in itself was nothing Mae’lyrra looked down upon. On the contrary, her people enjoyed a good celebration and good wine. But before she could say anything, Milo and his hatchling had caught her attention.
“Best keep your beast under control.” Mae’lyrra said in a serious tone and fixed her eyes on Milo. But then her expression became soft, she smiled and gave the young Amalfi a wink. Baloryx perked up and stretched his neck to look over the table and sniffed the air, studying Mist Catcher. Mae’lyrra turned her attention to the two dragons and gave a light chuckle. “We should count ourselves fortunate to have been received so graciously as we have by our hosts.” She looked up at Milo and then at Oleander at her side. “I can’t imagine we’ll encounter the same hospitality everywhere we go.”
Blinking slowly and not saying a word until she drained the mug, Oleander placed the mug back to start the process of getting refilled once more. Fingers poking at it in an attempt to reach the edge of their table. Normally she’d have a fair bit to say about that, especially since the Nera so far had been the best host she’d experienced since interacting with the Two-Legs. Instead she kinda looked up and away, making a show of checking for her musket secured on her back. “Aah suppoose sae…” Her response slurred and curt.
Shrinking into himself, Milo reached up to tug at his ears, nodding, "Sorry! I… ain't never had nothin' to k-keep under control. Promise I w-won't lose her again, M-miss…" lowering his gaze, he held Misty a little tighter to him and under his breath whispered, "You'll cost m-me my tooth, little one…"
“Oh, young Milo.” Mae’lyrra shook her head gently and then sipped her own wine. The young Rider seemingly always apologized, desperate to do nothing wrong. But it was hard to blame him. She was nervous herself, and she had seen more years than he had. “You’re doing fine.” She reassured him before she picked up a grape from her plate and popped it into her mouth. Then she looked at Oleander, wondering if those three words would be as close to praise as she would ever hear from her.
“It is a remarkably fine feast. Unlike any Two-Leg establishment for miles, I’m sure.” Mae’lyrra said teasingly, with a smirk soon taking over her features again. All the while, she fixed her eyes on Oleander.
Tension began worming itself into Oleander's attitude for the first time since Haloke negotiated with the Breakers this morning. Mae, the tribal, was staring right at her and casting out little bait lines of conversation. The Two-Leg wanted to converse, maybe to try and build some sort of connection between the two of them based on their origins. But then again, how would Mae have known anything about where she had come from? Had she let some sort of primitive custom show? None that she could recall, for sure.
“Ah’m shore...shore smaoineachadh… tae think th’ yew shudd’nae nuu wh’ be ah fin feeast. Nae ah lad o’ lass ruuten en th’ dirt tae be seen n’ae ah’ Seer pruclamatan th’ greatness o’ et. Cannae be gret th’ ken et?
”
(I’m sure, I’m sure to think, To think that you should not know what makes a fine feast. I don’t see couples pairing up to breed in the dirt and a shaman seer proclaiming the greatness of it. Can’t be that impressive to you then can it?)
A bit harsh in her words perhaps but Mae was making her anxious, the more she looked at the woman, the more she saw what she hated in herself. She looks away, attempting to focus on the young beastie she’d born on her back earlier in the day watching his panicked exterior. Nothing like the Amalfi she knew back in her range. Meek and small, the ones that she’d hunted had been fearsome beings of strength and rage, ready to tear even their strongest of hunters apart if cornered. The evening was starting to sour at the edges, Oleander quickly grabbing the once again filled cup to remedy things.
Looking up, Milo blinked between the two, his eyes settling on Oleander with that same wide eyed awe, before very quietly, he noted, almost in whisper to Mae, "I don't think I speak that language, M-miss…"…
Although she had been taken aback by Oleander’s words, she was now struggling not to laugh out loud. Mae’lyrra smiled brightly at Milo and then reached her hand out to let it rest against his cheek for a moment, giving it a pat and a gentle squeeze. “None of this Miss nonsense, now. You make me feel like an old crone.” And then she withdrew her hand. “Mae.”
A moment passed in silence as she studied Oleander, wondering just what she had said to provoke such a response. She drank more wine, set her cup down on the table and shrugged. “We don’t breed in the dirt.” Her voice was stern at first, but when she spoke again it was gone and again tinged with amusement. “Most of us have the decency to find a haystack or crawl under a wagon.” Mae’lyrra didn’t like it when people insulted her tribe or the shaman, but it would take far more than the drunken words of an Esquirian to sour her mood.
Oleander winced as she continued to drink, her expression slowly morphing into something more akin to a tortured grimace than a merry smile. She was being outright mocked at this point. A little voice in the back of her mind repeating ‘she knows’ over and over. Attempting to stuff down the loudest of her pitiable fears, Oleander shrugged. The high she’d been riding with the admiration the Nera had shown for her weaponry was crashing down, all from a few words from a person that did naught but remind her of what she came from. Even if service to her al Noe was coming quickly at this spot, Oleander was in no state to fight, so flight would become the best option.
“Ah’nae shood be hare, nae ahting boot foosin efah cannae sawnter” Swaying as she put the mug down and started to her hooves, her knees quickly caught the edge of the heavy table. Unable to knock it over fully, Olee stood half trapped by front legs still bent under the metal sheeting and her rear legs locked straight. Incapable of holding the awkward angle for long, she began to teeter to her side, ready to collapse and bring an ignoble end to the young Amalfi and his ward.
With a squeak, Milo's hands shot out to steady the Esquirian, palms flat against her flank as he gave a panicked look to Mae, Misty scrambling up his arm and around his collar, hissing lightly.
Darting up, Mae’lyrra did as Milo and helped steady Oleander who was far more unsteady on her legs than she had thought at first. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was a benefit to have four legs when you were this drunk, or if it was twice as difficult to stay upright because there were more limbs to control. “Steady yourself, friend.” Mae’lyrra said, obviously amused at the drunken state of the Esquirian. “Milo, be a dear and pour a mug of water for Oleander.” She spoke to the Amalfi, resting her hand on his shoulder briefly. Her attention was still on Oleander though.
“AhNAE be needan wooter n’ ah nae be needan hulp fae th’ lik o’ ah’nooth premataive surt.” Not totally understanding what was happening, Oleander began to resist the efforts of Mae, attempting to slap her hands away. The tightly wound braids in her hair loosening the dark locks to fall where they may. “Dinnae titch me ye tw-shank huvin lass bairn o’ dairt ‘n’ beastie n’ exile o’ hair kin! I dinnae waanet!” Forcing herself up to her legs, she stood shakily, world spinning as she spiraled. “Whitfir ye’ leeye Heahrd Mae? Whitfir ye be’wit tae kin wha sae th’fir better’un us? I sae nae! Whitfir ye’ooglin, play’e toons n’ lae me be!”
(I don’t need any water and I don’t need any help from the likes of another primitive sort! Don’t touch me ye two-leg having woman born of dirt and beast and exile of her kind! I don’t want it!...Why did you leave Mae? Why are you forced to be with others who claim to be better than us and are but aren’t?...What are you looking at! Play your music and leave me be!)
Milo scrambled to find a pitcher and without much thought behind the action, he poured it into a mug and turning, flung it at the Esquirian.
Confusion became apparent on her face. She had been called many things in her life, but exile was not one of them. Dirt and beast were not bad words to her as she lived in close connection with the earth and animals. Primitive she had been called countless times, but it had been many years since she learned not to take that as an insult. It depended on who you asked. Sure, there were some things about the Sunfeather tribe that might seem primitive to others, but Mae’lyrra failed to see the negative side of that. It seemed Oleander had already made up her mind on what to think of her and her people, though she was still unable to make much sense of her ramblings. When Milo turned and flung the water at Oleander, Mae’lyrra took a step back. She clearly didn’t want her help and she figured that if the Esquirian was so set on making a fool of herself, she would let her.
Before the young Amalfi could express his apologies and worries, she stepped toward him and patted him on the back. She positioned herself slightly in front of Milo, ready to shield him from Oleander’s wrath. Baloryx who was still on the bench where she had been sitting moments ago let out a sharp breath and stretched his neck to look at the scene.
Much like water being tossed on a fire with great flash and little substance, Oleander’s ire was drowned in an instant. Frozen in place, water ran in little streams from her face to be soaked up in her doublet. The nubs of her antlers showing through the hair now plastered by water to her head, Oleander reached up to check them both in a motion born of her being unsure as to what to do next. “A’m awl weht…” She stated the obvious to herself, as if doing so would help her try to get a grasp on the now wet, spinning world around her. “Cuid ye be ah’braw sairt o’ lass ‘n’ git me ah’nooth dram o’ ale? Bidh mi ann am fiachan ” She pointed a weak finger at Mae and Milo, the strength of her directing digit matching the half smile on her face.
(I’m all wet...Could you be a kind woman and hand me another mug of ale? I’ll be in your debt)
As soon as the water had left the cup, the cup left his grasp and Milo's hands had clapped over his mouth, and they remained there, as a beat of silence passed. When Oleander spoke, his wide-eyed gaze shifted from mortified shock to confusion, and still shielding his face, he looked to Mae.
None of this had served to help her confusion. Mae had the same expression on her face, although a smile had threatened to take over. For a few moments she just stood and stared at Oleander, wondering just what had come over her. Eventually, she mustered enough focus to answer the other woman.
“If you want more ale and wine, you’ll have to ask someone else to serve it.” Her expression was a little stern at first as she knew this might upset Oleander again. Then she offered her a smile again. “While I am usually not one to deny a friend a drink, we all do have our limits. And here there is neither wagon or haystack for me and my primitive sort, where we can crawl up and sleep away the stupor.” Mae’lyrra couldn’t resist teasing her. Before Oleander could respond, she quickly added: “If you’ll want water, I’ll gladly get you some. My aim isn’t half as good as young Milo’s is.”
Staring quizzically at Mae, Oleander was unsure as to what to do next.. Her tail flicked in irritation, more so at herself than anyone in the vicinity as she waved aside the taunting concerns. “Ah’l nae be eaten yer hay o’ pul’en yer wagon, ah’juist dinnae ken whit tae dae wi’ mahsell. “ She beckoned for some more water. “En ah dram th’s time please.” She shot a look at Milo, considering what he might look like dunked in a barrel of ale. “Jes yin mair n’ a’ be oan mah wey, whaur a’m tae be goin, ah cannae sae bit shuid be fin.” Staggering away from the table and glancing back in hope that she’d be handed something to sip on while she meandered through the settlement.
(I’ll leave your hay be and won’t pulling any waygons, I’m just unsure what I’m supposed to be doing with myself….In a mug this time please. One more drink and I’ll be on my way, not sure what way that is but I’ll be fine)
Still staring, one paw still clamped over his mouth, Milo reached with the other and carefully lifted a mug, holding it out, mostly of its contents sloshing to the table as his quaking grip faltered with fear.
She watched Oleander move away from them and felt her heart sink in her stomach. During their conversation, one-sided as it may have been, Mae’lyrra had been trying to figure out what was going on in the mind of her companion. Now she found herself wishing that the outcome had been more positive than it was. Sighing, she turned to Milo and shrugged.
“Worry not, my friend. Our Oleander will be fine.” She assured him and then gestured toward the table again. She moved herself to the bench and took a seat. “Have you eaten your fill?” She continued. “We might as well fill our stomachs. There is no telling when we’ll be treated to such a fine meal again.” Mae’lyrra popped a grape into her mouth.
Milo, however, after handing over the mug had carefully clambered down the opposite side of the table and as she turned to address him, Mae caught only the sight of his tail as it ducked around behind one of the many metal huts. There in the shadow of one building, crouching into a huddle, burying his head in his knees, he did his best to hide.
With a puzzled expression, she called his name. Only because she had caught sight of his tail did she have an idea of where he had gone. But why had he left? Sighing she wondered if things would be better if she just kept to herself. Still, Mae’lyrra stood and followed Milo. Glancing over her shoulder as she did, she saw Baloryx sleeping comfortably on the bench. Something inside her spoke against ever leaving the dragon out of sight, but while he was sleeping she convinced herself to steal away for a few minutes.
After searching around for a good ten minutes, she finally spotted the Amalfi huddled together. It was clear that he didn’t want to be found, but that made her want to seek him out all the more. Approaching quietly, she stopped in front of him and placed her hands at her hips and watched him. “Milo.” She said softly. “What is it?”
Without looking up, his head not moving from where he’d burrowed it into his knees, Milo shook it back and forth, his whole body shifting with the motion, as his words were expelled in what was no doubt meant to be comprehensible but instead came out in a garbled mess, “I’msorryI’msorryIdidn’tmeantoshewasjusttalkingsofastandIcouldn’tunderstandandIdidn’tmeantopleasedon’ttakemyteeth!”
Startled, she kneeled down in front of him. What was he so afraid of? And what was that thing with his teeth? Mae’lyrra inched closer. “No one is going to take your teeth.” She said, brows furrowing. Then she reached out and took him by the wrist. “Milo. Look at me. Don’t worry.” Mae’lyrra’s expression became one of worry as she studied him.
Tentatively, as her fingers gingerly curled around his wrist, he peeked his head up ever so slightly, only his eyes, wide and watery visible, as he sniffed softly, “Y-you’re not…?”
“Why would I want to take your teeth?” She asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Mae’lyrra didn’t understand. “I have my own, see.” She flashed her own white teeth and pointed to her own pointy canines. They weren’t as point as Milo’s, for obvious reasons.
The rest of his face coming free of his knees, Milo opened his mouth, pointing to the missing tooth, “...K-kinda used to it, I guess? W-when I’d m-mess up… Get caught or l-lose a m-mark. It was punishm-ment...”
Mae'lyrra looked at him, for a moment unable to fathom what he was saying. Unfortunately, she was well aware of the cruelties people could make each other suffer, but it was still sickening to encounter first hand. She shook her head and her lips became a thin line. She reached out and put her hands in either side of his face and fixed her eyes in his.
"No one is going to take your teeth." She repeated. "Those that might try will have to face the tip of my spear." And as if per reflex, she pulled him into a hug. Mae'lyrra squeezed him and sighed before letting him lean back. "Who did this to you?"
For a minute, Milo didn’t answer, though there was a soft muffled sound that came from Mae’s shoulder that might’ve been confused for words, were it not also for the dampness there. When he was able to compose himself, he shifted back, and fluffed at the fur on his cheeks, drying it best he could with the backs of his paws, “He runs the Dodgers. The… the people I w-worked for, back in Cobrol. T-took m-me in. W-wasn’t very nice, but… but it was a place to live, you know?”
“Oh, Milo.” She said, shaking her head again. A tear formed in the corner of her eye when she thought about him having lived such a life. It wasn’t surprising now that he was so quick to apologize. Mae’lyrra reached out and placed her hand on his cheek again. “Let me make this promise to you.” She began. Above them, they could hear wings flapping and a raven made its presence known. “As long as I am by your side, you won’t have to work for the Dodgers. No one will take your teeth. You’re a dragon rider now.” She leaned back and smiled. “You will always have my spear.” Her voice was more formal and carried a note of importance. “And I will always be your friend.” Mae’lyrra nodded, baring her teeth in a wider smile now.
Sniffing, rubbing his arm across his nose, Milo gave a small, terse bob of his head, "Thank you M-miss Mae. I don't feel m-much like a rider, but I'm gonna do m-my best. And, well, thanks for… the other bit too." Lowering his voice, his eyed flickered back to the tabled they'd left behind, "Do you think she's terribly m-mad?"
Shaking her head, she followed his gaze. For a moment she thought about the curious esquirian. She wondered where Oleander had gone, but was convinced that she was fine. Or at least had found somewhere to collapse. "No. No I don't think so." Mae'lyrra said reassuringly. "So stop you fretting." She stood and then extended a hand to help him up.
Looking up, Milo hesitated a moment, before reaching a paw to accept the hand, "Hey, M-miss Mae? Do m-me a favor?"
"Yes, Milo?" She raised an eyebrow, wondering what favor he would have to ask of her.
"Don't tell Casimir about any of this…" Scrunching his face into a slight frown, he shrugged, "He m-might make fun…"…"
"You have my word."