The Biggest Idiot in the World
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Duskdog
Date Posted: 15th November 2024
Characters: Zaphare
Description: Zaphare Impresses. Somehow.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 3, day 22 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Nosarre, Ekirim
Zaphare was the biggest idiot in the world.
Coming here had never been about Impressing. It had been about taking care of a problem… and maybe, just maybe, finding a place where she fit in better than she ever had back at home. And she had done that. It had _worked_, shard it -- she had exactly what she wanted. Everything she wanted. Her problem was solved, and the Weyr was an even better fit for her than she had ever imagined. Nobody expected anything special of her here. She could dress however she wanted, have fun with whomever she wanted, and not only was nobody scandalized about it, some of them even actively _encouraged_ it!
It was supposed to be enough. Being a candidate for a while was just playing the game, just something to keep her occupied for a while, and afterwards she knew she would be welcome to stay on and find some other job within the Weyr.
But somewhere along the way, she had let herself get all caught up in the game. Surrounded by people who had real dreams to Impress, who had been told they were worthy, and who went out on those Sands each time full of hope that this would be their time, she had started to hope, too. And the hope had grown into a yearning, which only grew even more every time she saw a rider have a tender moment with their dragon. (It happened more often than she had realized, now that she knew where to look.)
How stupid. How absolutely stupid of her.
As always, a problem of her own making. Something she’d done to herself, inside her own head, that was eventually going to leave her heartbroken. And she wouldn’t have any right to cry about it, either, because just whose fault was it?
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she _was_ her own worst enemy.
Standing out on the Sands in those stupid robes (honestly, did the dragons care what they were wearing?) was harder than it should have been. Dragons hatched, creeling, stumbling about, and she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she thought they were beautiful. Because, objectively, they weren’t. And yet it felt like they were, just the same, and one by one they found whatever they were looking for in someone who wasn’t _her_.
(What were they even looking for? Nobody seemed to know, and yet people they chose were supposed to be special, somehow. Maybe they were all just looking for someone stupid enough to throw themselves into the sky after burning rain, huh, did nobody ever think of that?)
At least that snooty Nosarre had Impressed a green. That should have been some comfort, seeing someone so arrogant get exactly what she didn’t want… and yet, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like Nosarre still had something that she didn’t have: a dragon, no matter the color.
That poor green, with a rider who thought being a greenrider was “monotonous”. Well. Just like Zaphare, she’d made her choice and would have to deal with it.
Searched or no, she was sure she would have made a better greenrider than _Nosarre_.
She was struck, suddenly, by a feeling of anger, _rejection_ of the idea, that seemed to come out of nowhere. Anger at Nosarre? No -- that was definitely present, but that didn’t feel like the target. The green? No, she wasn’t mad at the green for picking whoever she’d picked, that would be silly… except, she realized, she _was_. Awful green, terrible green, _stop thinking about the green_…!
The feeling was so _keen_, but torn in twain, as if it were coming from both inside and outside herself -- as if she were both the originator, and the target. It was disorienting, and for a moment, she wondered if the heat of the Sands was getting to her somehow. Was she sweating, did she have a fever?
}:What is a fever and why do you want it?! Why do you want that when I’m right here???:{ a voice demanded, and somehow she could ‘hear’ the multiple punctuation marks in its tone.
Yes, she must have a fever. Zaphare was a lot of things, but crackpot-crazy-talks-to-herself wasn’t one of them.
}:Put that fever down and look at me! Look!:{
And then she saw him: a small, lean, lithe little blue with a hide like midnight, stalking his way through the shells of his brethren, eyes fixed directly on her. One claw left a bloody imprint on the sand beneath him; she noticed, only vaguely, that the trail led back to Ekirim, though in her confusion she couldn’t quite make heads or tails of it.
}:He got in my way,:{ said the voice dismissively, and now there was no doubt that it was coming from the blue. It was a clear voice, deeper than she might have expected given the size of the dragon (though a body shouldn’t have anything to do with a mental voice anyway, right?), and the curious way it echoed in her head -- so crystal-clear that she might have thought it was spoken out loud, except that it seemed to come from inside her instead of to the left or right or even in front (she didn’t realize until this very moment how aware she was of the direction of sound) -- was like nothing she had ever experienced before.
It was also increasingly obvious that the source of the voice was also the source of the feeling. It had been anger, yes, but also _jealousy_, urgent possessiveness, with an undercurrent of fear that Zaphare had been craving, reaching out for that green -- or that _idea_ of a green, anyway.
}:STOP!:{ the blue ordered desperately, gathering his body and _flinging_ himself the last couple of feet to her, clawing and grabbing, but catching nothing but the lower half of her robe, slicing and tearing it on his way down to land in a heap at her feet. }:You’re mine! You’re mine, I saw you first, I touched you first! Zaphare, Zaphare…! My name is Zollarth, and now that you know mine and I know yours, nobody can do anything about it! You’re mine and we can’t be separated, not by fevers, and especially not by _other dragons_!:{
He was distressed. He was quivering with his anger, his jealousy, and with triumph, his eyes raised to hers as if daring her to contradict him, and she couldn’t bear it -- she reached out to stroke the top of his delicate little head, and as she met his eyes full-on, she felt her entire world tilt on its axis alarmingly and beautifully, everything that had been wrong that she hadn’t realized was wrong shifting into its proper place.
}:There,:{ said Zollarth, with finality, his little heart still hammering, but his distress immediately beginning to melt into something warm and satisfied. }:See? You’re mine. And I’m yours. We take what we want _together_.:{
It’s what she had always told herself, after all: nothing good ever happens in this life if you don’t make it happen, yourself.
She looked up into the stands, vaguely aware of the hush of the crowd, and keenly aware of Zollarth winding his way around her legs, once, twice, and then settling at her side with his head pressed up beneath her hand, also following her gaze up into the stands.
But there was no one up there for her, no one here from home who had come to see her. She knew that already.
She smiled up at them anyway -- smug, triumphant, the swell of Zollarth’s echoing feelings pressing up from beneath, bolstering her pride and her spite.
She had found her way here so that Zollarth could find her, and hadn’t needed any dragon’s approval to do it -- so _suck it_, world.
Last updated on the November 19th 2024