Post by Zhaymaius / Rivos on May 2, 2010 7:29:44 GMT -8
((I know you've been busy, but I just had this idea for a post a week or two ago... and it's silly. :3))
It had been a rather quiet afternoon in the infirmary, and as such, Zhaymaius had some free time that evening. However, this evening wasn’t going to be spent doing the most normal of activities for a sixteen-Turn old Dragonhealer apprentice on break (ha, like there were any others who fit that description), nor was it going to be the most relaxing.
Instead of taking a nap, or checking stores, or just plain relaxing, the mute Dragonhealer was literally reeking of nervousness; he had probably sweated through his work clothes by now just thinking about what he was about to do. It was crazy, and he damn well knew it! Of all the people for a scraggly mute drudge-turned-Dragonhealer to fall head over heels for, it just had to be the Weyrwoman! Why did fate hate him?
He was already standing outside the Weyrwoman’s office door, trying to figure a way to deliver the message that was quivering in his hands; a little love note that he wrote himself. Unfortunately, seeing as how K’ivan and himself were still trudging through his literacy lessons, the note was quite preadolescent in nature; he hoped the Weyrwoman would forgive his naivete and how stupid his note probably looked.
It was finally decided that he would actually put the note right in front of her door, put a rock on it (there were plenty of small, weighty rocks nearby), and knock on her door. After that, he would run away as quickly as possible; the dragonhealer’s special version of “ding dong ditch.” So this is exactly what he did! However, it just wouldn’t be life if things went wrong. After knocking on the office door, he ran around the corner, where he tripped over his own feet, falling to the ground hard. Thankfully, he had covered his hands with his face just at the right time, but there were nasty scrapes all over his arms, hands, chest, stomach, knees, and legs from the friction accumulated when he fell running. Fardles, it stung! However, Zhaymaius still got up and limped off, trying to make sure the Weyrwoman never saw him in her proximity.
The note itself, if the Weyrwoman cared to read, had been written out to include four words, and had many other little half-word attempts crossed out. It read:
Love you.
-Seekrit Admyrur.
It had been a rather quiet afternoon in the infirmary, and as such, Zhaymaius had some free time that evening. However, this evening wasn’t going to be spent doing the most normal of activities for a sixteen-Turn old Dragonhealer apprentice on break (ha, like there were any others who fit that description), nor was it going to be the most relaxing.
Instead of taking a nap, or checking stores, or just plain relaxing, the mute Dragonhealer was literally reeking of nervousness; he had probably sweated through his work clothes by now just thinking about what he was about to do. It was crazy, and he damn well knew it! Of all the people for a scraggly mute drudge-turned-Dragonhealer to fall head over heels for, it just had to be the Weyrwoman! Why did fate hate him?
He was already standing outside the Weyrwoman’s office door, trying to figure a way to deliver the message that was quivering in his hands; a little love note that he wrote himself. Unfortunately, seeing as how K’ivan and himself were still trudging through his literacy lessons, the note was quite preadolescent in nature; he hoped the Weyrwoman would forgive his naivete and how stupid his note probably looked.
It was finally decided that he would actually put the note right in front of her door, put a rock on it (there were plenty of small, weighty rocks nearby), and knock on her door. After that, he would run away as quickly as possible; the dragonhealer’s special version of “ding dong ditch.” So this is exactly what he did! However, it just wouldn’t be life if things went wrong. After knocking on the office door, he ran around the corner, where he tripped over his own feet, falling to the ground hard. Thankfully, he had covered his hands with his face just at the right time, but there were nasty scrapes all over his arms, hands, chest, stomach, knees, and legs from the friction accumulated when he fell running. Fardles, it stung! However, Zhaymaius still got up and limped off, trying to make sure the Weyrwoman never saw him in her proximity.
The note itself, if the Weyrwoman cared to read, had been written out to include four words, and had many other little half-word attempts crossed out. It read:
Love you.
-Seekrit Admyrur.
