Hate [Open]

[Fel]

Ealar sat by the side of the chilly lake, stewing. He hated them. All of them. The only problem was, he didn't even know who they were. Whoever had poisoned his food. Whoever had done something to make someone want to poison the Weyr.

Whoever was okay when he wasn't.

Hadn't he and his family been through enough? What had he done to deserve this? Every brief muscle cramp had him terrified that another seizure was on its way, but it had been days now. Was whoever had done this happy that he had more reasons to be afraid now than he even had when he'd been Holdless? Were they happy that his hands weren't steady and everything was just blurry? Were they happy that practically the entire Weyr was turning paranoid?

Staring out at the glassy blur of water wasn't helping his mood any, but it was better than looking for trouble. Or being where he could find it even though he wasn't looking for it. There were no answers out there, but at least there wasn't anyone trying to kill him—or whatever the goal of the poisonings even was—there. Just a smooth, empty expanse. He sat there for a while, shaggy blonde hair ruffled by the wind, until he heard footsteps nearby and turned.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying not to sound bitter. He definitely sounded at least a little bitter.

[Dragon]

Veryn didn't think anything of approaching the lake with her barely mature dragon flouncing along at her side. Fall meant it was starting to get noticeably chilly, and she was determined to spend as much time in places Molloth could follow before winter set in and the cold drove her to spend most of her time indoors.

Thankfully, neither she nor Molloth had been affected by the poisoning. Yet. Hopefully, they would stay unaffected. The puppyish little blue would definitely not understand what was going on if he got poisoned, but unfortunately, there was nothing Veryn could do to protect him that she wasn't already doing. They both had to eat.

When the shaffy-haired boy, about her younger sibling Telniel's age, bitterly asked what she wanted, Veryn paused. His knots put him as simply one of the weyrfolk, and he looked - although she couldn't really tell with him seated - to be close to Veryn's own height and build.

"I was just spending some time wandering around with Molloth," she answered.

Hello, hello, hello! Molloth greeted, reaching out to nudge the boy with his cute, rounded nose. I am Molloth, and this is my Veryn. I picked her. I don't remember picking her, but I know I did!

Veryn grinned. "Molloth can be a bit silly." She tipped her head to the side slightly. "Are you thinking about candidacy? You look about the right age for it."

[Windra]

It was the voices that drew her near. Edwyth couldn't help. Not here. Not now. And Squishy ... well, the young fire-lizard was positively doing his best. Between doting over the struggling dragon back in his weyr, entertaining his big cousin's pleas to watch after Sc'let, and tempering the brownrider's chaos-filled mind ... Squishy was overwhelmed. And sweating. His little heart was beating positively out of his chest!

Edwyth was being tended to now. Dragonhealers got to him after Squishy sounded the alarm. But coming so close to a loss ... even if just skimming the surface of one ... Touching Sc'let's mind was like wallowing into a pit of smoldering fire with all the walls sealed shut: hot; blind; impending doom; breathless. She'd flailed wildly down the hallways bumping into everybody and everything with violent perseverance. People were shoved out of the way. Things were knocked over, shattering. Sc'let cared not! She howled, rambled, carried on until the breeze of fresh air brought her outside -

- and voices. There were many. But one carried strong while the others dimmed in her senses. One from then, and them. Boot-clad feet led her forward in a furious run even when she stumbled over rocks and roots. An alarmed Squishy grabbed her by her jacket's neck, creeling helplessly.

"YOU!!" If her eyes could see, Sc'let's vision would be caked in red. She lunged, swinging, at Ealar - and missing. Fists slammed a tree trunk instead. But this did not stop her assault. "DAMN HOLDLESS, it be's you poisonin' Eddy, innit?! Even after we be's pullin ya's outta da ice!" After every few words, Sc'let would punch. Again and again. Bark splintered skin. Pain did not blind that which could already not see. "I'LL TEAR YA APART!"

[Fel]

Ealar drew back from the excitable blue's nudges. He didn't want cheerful and happy just then. From a dragon least of all. It was the fault of riders that his father had been exiled in the first place. He couldn't quite make out the smile on the rider's face, but he could practically hear it in her voice.

"No. I'm not, ma'am." Because this was a rider, and no matter how bad a mood he was in, he had to be respectful. Haron was right; doing anything else put them all in jeopardy. They weren't like other Weyr residents, and they didn't get to assume that the slightest misdeed wouldn't get them all booted right back out. Even if having a dragon could afford them all some measure of protection in that regard... no. "I've never wanted that."

Because what duty did he have toward anyone else on Pern? What had the rest of the world ever done for him or his family? They'd let his mother die, and then they'd let him be poisoned when he'd never even done anything wrong.

He didn't know what else to say so he just looked away. He'd never understood what people were supposed to talk about with strangers. Why would anyone want to talk with strangers in the first place?

At least that awkward conversation--or lack thereof--was suddenly cut short by a furious shout. A person, presumably the owner of the voice, suddenly came into view even if not focus nearby. A person who seemed to hate him as much as he hated everyone else. For the last time, he'd never done anything wrong. A brief terror rose in him; would they really blame him? Was he going to be set out again to freeze or starve, his father and brother dragged along with him just by association? Had someone that he'd somehow wronged decided that he was guilty, and they'd come looking for him?

The terror rapidly turned to a white-hot fury. How dare anyone endanger his family by accusing him?! So he did the only thing he knew how. He lashed out, rushing toward the woman to tackle her to the ground if he could. He wanted to hit her; he didn't.

"Why would I poison myself? Why would I poison anyone?! I didn't do anything!"

[Dragon]

The scream made Veryn jump, her dark eyes going wide as she turned to the scared blonde brownrider. She barely kept from flinching as the woman aimed a punch at the boy and hit a tree instead, telling and accusing the boy - one of the former holdless? - of poisoning the Weyr.

Now, Veryn was technically an adult, being a fully trained dragonrider, but she was not the most adulty adult. She was much more of a follower than a leader, and generally more concerned with keeping Molloth from getting into scrapes than any sort of advancement she might one day be considered for. Add that to the fact that she'd impressed less than two turns before, and she did not feel at all prepared to handle this.

Molloth! Grab her.

The blue shook his head in confusion, then lunged obediently toward the rider and did her best to delicately grasp the back of her jacket with his jaws. At the same time, Veryn reached for the boy, trying to tug him away from the brownrider.

Veryn would like you to not fight, please, Molloth told the other two, doing his absolute best to help his rider calm the situation.

"He really does have a point," she told the other rider. "And besides - he's just a kid."

[Windra]

TW: For the rainbow of language.

"SHADDAP - YA KNOW WHACHA - !"

Wait. What she was hitting wasn't fleshy and soft and the only blood she smelled seemed to be coming from her own hands. Knuckles her. Forskin' forsk this motherforskin' son of a forskin' tree bitch -

The guy was shrieking at her from behind so Sc'let turned. The blur of his shape was coming closer. She welcomed it! Embraced it! Let him come! She needed to kick he shit out of somebody because "Eddy be's strugglin' ta catch his breath an' ya's jes - alla ya jes - !"

Mine. Stop.

Edwyth's pleas made her stagger. Just a little. Squishy pounced on her back. Terrified cries from the little brown cousin pierced her ear drums. Something else's teeth snapped at her jacket and kept her from falling. Sc'let hovered there - not quite standing and not yet face-planting the dirt. Arms pinwheeled in a confused hunt for balance and blood. When they found none, the brownrider howled with blind frustration made maddening by the peculiar warmth of tears rolling down her cheeks that didn't quite fit the bill of the rage threatening to burst out of her chest.

I'm so - forskin' - TIRED. Why was High Reaches this endless stream of misery?

... not ... holdless ... remember?

Edwyth did not need his lungs to speak telepathically, but the struggle to catch his breath was taxing on the ability to concentrate on what he willed to portray. A brief flicker of the blizzard that sent the vagabonds into their home flashed before Sc'let's blinded eyes and she tried to blink it away as if the image scalded what was left of her sight.

In her gut she knew Eddy was right.

Breath.

"You can't!" But her movements did slow. Just a kid. Right? Was this one of the ones she and Edwyth grabbed? Back when she could see? "Forsk everythin' 'bout this." Well at least her tone was levelling out. That was something.