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Messages - Colvin

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Cole had gotten off relatively easy. The little red who’d sliced open the back of his leg had been kind about it. Clean cut and only moderately deep. He, himself, had probably done more damage by ignoring O’sir’s command to get to a Healer and by standing on it for as long as the rest of the Hatching had taken. But eventually he had seen a healer. And they’d cleaned the wound and stitched it up. It wasn’t in the most easy of places to have stitches, every time he took a step, the bend of his knee tugged and pulled at the wound. He liked the constant reminder though.

As it were, he was happy not to have been one of the ones stuck in the Healer Hall. He couldn’t take another sevenday laid up like he had been after Kalestath’s flight.

But many of his fellow Candidates were here for the long run. And Cole made a point of coming to bug them whenever he came in to have his bandages changed and the stitches looked at. He used them to keep his mind off the fellis so close by whenever he was here. These first thirty six to forty eight hour, the Healer’s wanted him here at least twice a day to keep an eye on infection since he’d left the wound untended to for so long. After they were sure he wasn’t going to go rotten on them they’d likely shoo him off only to be seen a few times a sevenday for the next two sevenday until the stitches were removed.

He limped in a little bit after the Candidate Master. “Goooooddddd afternoon everyone!” As he went to move around one of the Healer apprentices near Yvesta, he hooked an arm around her waist and twirl her theatrically. “Who’s ready to unwrap the present that is me?” He teased.

As he he spun the poor girl, he slipped something into Ysveta’s bed. It was a small tablet sized piece of pottery and a thin stick of chalk. Cole had been bored out of his skull when M’kale had put him in here for so long. He’d had Daysa to keep him company. Daysa had promised to try to bring him paper to write music on back then. But finding any was nearly impossible. Still was. So this would have to do.

One of the kitchen workers had been chatting with Vi, somehow the topic came up that you could use eggshells to make chalk. Vi passed that information--and some scrap wherry eggshells over to Cole. The clay tablet shard had probably been a plate or larger bowl or something at one point in time. It was also likely a gift from his sister from the kitchens. It wasn’t paper. And it wasn’t permanent. But Cole had written out a few random notes in different places on it. Ysveta could choose to play his little “madlibs” game and fill in the blanks as she wanted to create a song. She could erase his work completely and do her own. Or she could very well ignore it and toss the thing away.

It seemed like Cole didn’t care since he didn’t acknowledge it or her as he flirted with the apprentice, who’d gotten her bearings and was smacking away his hands and leading him to a cot to be treated. He stopped following her when he caught sight of Oarlen and his head tilting as if he didn’t recognize the kid.

“You look,” he glanced over Oarlen’s small frame on the cot, unmarred by the usual firelizard coat he normally wore. “Less colorful.” Oarlen also looked smaller, more fragile. He made a mental note to encourage Vic to join in on the living flit wardrobe the kid seemed to enjoy. Speaking of Vic, he reached into a pocket a pulled out a very squished bag. “Here, Vic says hi.” The bag held an equally squished pie. Probably not standard fare for the Healer Hall but Cole had managed to swipe one in his sweep of the lunch crowd before heading here.

He blew a kiss at Savi and a wink and a bow toward Isalia before he paused at the cot he was to wait at. “So should I drop my pants here or?...” The apprentice didn’t look overly amused and simply pointed for him to lay down. Cole chuckled but finally moved onto the cot, belly down to wait to be looked at.

He laid his arms on the bed and propped his chin on them and looked to the Candidate Master, ignoring the throbbing in his leg that came from his overzealous, whirlwind entrance. The man looked entirely too comfortable here. He’d done this too many times before and probably not with just Candidates.

Spoiler for Hidden:
Um...attention hogging character so...tag everyone for mentions? xD @SirAlahn @CatTiff @Drewliet @Inki @Kyya but really, this was a bit disjointed and I was doing multiple things while writing it so if I've messed anything up or something doesn't work for anyone's charries just let me know and I'll redo.  :love:

Vic scrambled to cling to Cole’s chest, pressed between his bonded and Oarlen’s back. It was a good place. A safe place. Cole shook his head slowly as he watch Oarlen grin like a lunatic and taking in the view. “Careful,” he muttered as L’del moved to strap Oarlen in. “Your face will get stuck like that.” He said nothing as L’del strapped him in, knowing it would be a wasted effort to ask to not use the straps.

“Ready.” Colvin said, with surprising conviction. He wanted into the air. And soon enough he felt Idulth’s muscles shift and the prick of Vic’s talons pressing tighter against him and then they were in the air. It felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders immediately and soon enough he was grinning like a stupid lunatic just like Oarlen. The dragons and people below still prepping to either go to Southern Boll or to stay here and receive supplies as they came retreated to small specks as the bronze went higher. Not for the first time, Cole was surprised at how small their island really was, surrounded by the dark blue ocean. He didn’t have long to contemplate that vastness before the cold vastness of Between took them.

His gasp was lost in the nothingness and the darkness. And when they reappeared over the main continent, Colvin let out a gleeful yelp of pure unadulterated joy. “Wahooo! Yeah!” The warmth from the Rukbat immediately began to chase away the chill of Between and Cole craned against the straps wanting to see everything lain out beneath them as Idulth began his descent down. He leaned to the side, looking past Oarlen and L’del, looking to the north horizon. According to the maps in the Harper Hall, Nabol was somewhere out there in that wasteland to the north.

At L’del’s words, Cole tore his gaze away from the horizon and looking appraisingly at the ruins of Southern Boll. The stone roads were still there, Threadfall unable to break those down though Turns of disuse and neglect left them cracked and treacherous. Many of the buildings probably still stood, stone foundations at least but if Cole remembered the records correctly, Southern Boll was known for woven wicker furniture and Thread would have decimated that. Even stuff left in shelter would have broken down a lot quicker than rock.

He undid his straps, and like letting Oarlen go up first, was ready to help the smaller boy down first. “Ready?” He slipped an arm around Oarlen, shifting to help hoist him down to the bronze’s forearm.

But in that instance everything in his mind shifted on him, like someone turning a kaleidoscope and all the broken colored pieces that had settled precariously were now raining down again.

Cole was younger and smaller. He wasn’t in Southern Boll. He wasn’t on a dragon. He was in the Hold, on a wall. There was someone in his arms. Someone smaller than him, who trusted and loved him.
“I’ll help you down if you need it.”
He frowned, not knowing where that voice was coming from. When he looked down it was his sister he held. Cole blinked, trying to sort it out in his mind and in that span of blink his sister was there and then she was not. He scrambled to grab her again but she was already gone.

It was only a moment, tense moment where Cole froze, hand on Oarlen and the straps hanging around him. Vic sent a crashing sound through Cole’s head. It wasn’t an image, or even a word, just a sound, a firelizard equivalent to slapping someone back to their senses. He gave a little hiccup of a gasp, like as if he had been under water and just broken the surface, his lungs screaming for air. He tried to cover it up by letting the gasp trail into a cough, rubbing at his temples a headache already forming. Vic nuzzled Cole apologetically on the cheek, nipped his ear and then took off to the air to let the boys get down. “Whew,” he said voice calmer than he felt. “Between is no joke, huh Pipsqueak.” He quickly slid down to Idulth’s forelimb ahead of Oarlen, reaching up to help him from here. "Let's go before everyone else finds all the good stuff."

Cole frowned down at Oarlen when the younger boy enunciated his name, as if he was truly surprised at it and hadn’t actually known it. He let the admonishment go though, grinning excitedly as Oarlen shared his enthusiasm and excitement at the sheer age of how long Southern Boll had been unoccupied. “Uh-huh, that’s like what? Ten times as long as you’ve been alive for sure.” How old did he think Oarlen was?

The dragon name and the rider name meant nothing to him and Cole shot Oarlen an impressed look when the boy was able to rattle both off without much thought. The kid was more useful to have around than he looked.

Given their height difference, Oarlen probably could have sat down completely and Cole would have barely had to stoop to keep a hold of his sleeve, but he realized what Oarlen was trying to do as he made proper introductions and he indulged him. Sort of. Cole’s “bow” was slight enough it could have been a stumble as they hurried after L’del.

His smirk deepened as Oarlen insisted he and Vic were useful. Perhaps it was true to some extend. Cole knew more than the average weyr or hold folk about history solely based on his time in the Harper Hall and also proper collecting and recording techniques. Vic, more or less, could be helpful--trained just as well as Terra. At least as long as nothing scared him.

But it wasn’t all that that caused him to smirk. It was the choice of the word “useful”. It was a favorite of his father’s, that and “worth”, And it was really the only way Cole had grown up seeing people be defined, by what their usefulness to his family was and how worthy they were. Cole had always been told he was useful, another pawn in some political scheme. He’d mattered only in his ability to be of use to someone else. His worth, however, that had been a different story.

“I’ve mounted plenty of greens,” Cole quipped, intentionally letting the lack of designation between green rider and green dragon hang in the air suggestively. “C’mon kid, I’ll give you a boost.” He said to Oarlen, linking his fingers into a makeshift step to help Oarlen up Indulth’s forearm. After hearing Oarlen nearly choke on a squeal, he couldn’t not let him go first. Once Oarlen was settled, Cole scrambled up behind him, not exactly with the ease of a practiced rider since he’d only done this a handful of times for rides on Vorloruth but he managed well enough.

He did not know the proper way to strap in though, often foregoing the straps whenever Niema and Vorloruth would let him--which wasn’t often--or simply enjoying the feel his mentor’s arms and hands as he let her strap him in.

Cole glanced over at Calladren when the younger boy stopped beside him and spoke. His face was expressionless and he merely turned back away without so much as a word to Cal. When Oarlen came up on his other side, Cole smirked and with a seemingly decided purposefulness, ruffled Oarlen’s hair in almost a “rub it in” sort of way to Cal. “Hey there Pipsqueak.”

Oarlen wasn’t wrong. A dragonrider certainly did beat--well--anything. As did the thought of getting to explore one of the abandoned Holds. “It’s been close to four decades since anyone has lived there.” He murmured with a muted tone of excitement, a gleam in his eyes that was normally only there when he played music, was flirting with a particularly worthy and interesting girl (or boy), or when he was high.

They didn’t have to wait long. One of the Mountain brown riders singled him out and told him to follow and just in case L’del might have meant Calladren, or just in case there was any confusion, Cole grabbed onto what little piece of Oarlen’s sleeve he could get to underneath the shirt of firelizards he wore.

“C’mon kid, let’s go see it!” They were going to get to see the world. At least far more of it than Cole had ever seen before.

As he followed L’del, he leaned over to whisper not so softly to Oarlen, still holding onto the kid’s shoulder as if he were afraid he lose him again like he had in the riot. “Do you know which one that is?” He asked nodding to L’del. Cole didn’t know many of the Mountain Riders, they weren’t around enough to have Candidates assigned to them very often for chores. He knew riders from Beach and Prairie from chores and from Jungle to know who to avoid, but Mountain was a mystery. Hopefully the guy wasn’t a complete asshole.

Colvin was settled into the common area of the Barracks, leaning back in a chair, feet up on the desk as he plucked absently at his lute. Vic was curled up in his lap, the rift between him and the blue flit all but forgotten after their little make up session post-Riot. Basically Cole did what he did best and didn’t talk about what Vic had done and Vic was just happy to be back with him with no more threats of being drowned.

He glanced up as O’sir came in and got the Candidates’ attention. Another chore. Great. But as the Candidate Master talked and explained what was happened, Cole felt the tingle of true excitement in his stomach. Mountain Wing was going to the Weaver Hall. There were records. (Part of his brain also registered the word “needles” in the rattling of supplies O’sir said the Mountain Riders were hoping to bring back.) But what caught Colvin’s attention most of all was the words “Southern Boll Hold.”

All of Cole’s life had been confined to Fort Hold and now this sharding Weyr.  Other than a few times of Niema taking him to the mainland to one of the deserted beaches, he’d never actually been anywhere else on Pern. In that all-consuming way Cole had, he now needed to go to Southern Boll. He needed to see it.

His boots hit the ground only a second before the front two legs of his chair did and before the sound of the legs hitting the floor even faded he was up and moving. Vic trilled in surprise as he was unceremoniously dumped from Cole’s lap, barely managing to flap his wings in time to not be the third thump on the floor following Cole’s boots and the legs of the chair. He put his lute away and grabbed a jacket as he moved with decided determination to get to the Weyrbowl.

One of the senior Weavers was shepherding the gathering crowd into groups, one to go and one to stay. As the Weaver pointed to him and motioned towards the group that was staying and then pointed to another Candidate near him and pointed to the group going, Colvin acted immediately, shoving the other Candidate towards the group that would remain and making a beeline towards the dragon riders. The Weaver sorting people didn’t seem to care, as long as a body went to Mountain and a body stayed here.

Cole didn’t know many of the Mountain Riders and so he hung back, appraising the group and trying to pick out which one would be the easiest to work with and the least likely to be on his ass the whole time.

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