2024-07-14 - [7.1] Mob Psychology

The tent sides being up is almost boring, now. Such a part of normal that Courth has stopped noticing when the information is being filtered out. He has enough to look at now that it barely fazes him when he has to ignore a point or drop an idea to look at a new one. The world is full of noise and expectation and noise – expectation? He has to wrench his attention outward to see where that thought comes from and then coils where no one can see him. It tips the shell away from the crowd, a noticeable movement as the horde of noise and thoughts descends.

"Some of them seem eager!"

'No! Go away, go away! Worse than the soft-puppies...'

He snips and sparks at the first group, so sure and certain. Possessive. They act as though it’s a given thing that someone will want to bond with them. Emotion over information. The Emperor in particular makes Courth puff up like his own little lightning storm.

’Why do you think you can just have us? We’re people, not achievements!’

Eventually, though, reason reigns. Courth subsides into mutinous static. He is irritable because his schedule has been interrupted, that’s all…There’s a chance these ‘candidates’ might offer some new or interesting information and he’s a fool if he passes up on it. If the weyr insists he has to ‘bond’ with one of these options, they need scrutiny…

These ones are trusted with ‘responsibility’ – why? It’s gone to the Emperor’s head, Courth dismisses him. The boy is more willing to entertain thoughts of grandeur than look at the facts in front of him. Hierophant looks too far back, trapped in history that doesn’t matter anymore. The Magician...Courth doesn’t find the reason to dislike her that he’s looking for, but he can’t bring himself to consider her as an option. Even the High Priestess, filled with interesting multitudes (and maybe a lesson in how to hide what he’s thinking to not harm others? No? Alright then…) is passed over.

The only one that gets more than a single, invasive pass is the Empress. A steadying hand, keeping the reckless on track. He can appreciate that, even if he finds her hopefulness a tad saccharine.

No.

All these people have to teach him is that the wings must be very full of fools indeed.

The Hanged Man is shocked until he leaves. The Devil finds the hair on her arms raising even though Courth cannot create any real static. The Lovers confuses him, he has no real category to put these people who feel like they operate more like a bonded pair despite the lack of any actual bond. They’re not draconic, they can’t have one together. Yet it feels like they do. Courth huffs and looks away…and looks back and away until they’re out of the tent, thoughts a storm as he tries to find an answer they cannot provide.

Is this group worse? Or better? Maybe he is just falling into the same pattern the humans are.

The Wheel is a familiar kind of mind. Pragmatic. Ordered. They choose their path and follow the correct order of things – which Courth appreciates. It’s calming in its own way and when the vibration of their touch through the shell leaves he is…Disappointed is too strong a word. It is only that they have an easier mind to deal with than the others.

Star is turned away with sharp sparks. Court cannot imagine being tied to that desperation for life. Would it get better afterwards? When the boy finds that validation? Or will there be another thing for him to worry about? Death is much the same. Enthusiasm should be tempered with practicality but not to this extent. Moon and Sun are a matched pair of opposites that Courth sighs at, allows the small vibrating grate of their touch without comment, and moves on from. Too closed off and too chased. Both have their demons and Courth wants nothing to do with keeping secrets.

World...Something snaps into place. Courth’s future might not be with him (you cannot make a decision without seeing all the options, and there is something about the surety without action that is off-putting) but it will be with someone like him. Someone with plans and a goal to achieve them. Direction without glory. Confidence with momentum, not blind arrogance. A storm cannot cling but Courth tries to demand World stay to be judged more – the same sparks he gave to drive off, intending to bring focus…Does it make a difference.

Buoyed, Courth finally embraces the testing scenario that is the touching. Each hand that taps against his shell adds a little more to the puzzle that is the expectations of what is going to happen. That looming, driving Something is the need for Some*one*, of course! It all makes sense now. The bond has to happen, he’d heard that from all the dragons before, but the shuffle of minds against his reveals why that matters. You cannot bind with just anyone, and Ansith had been wrong.

Tower is bowled over by sparks, her attitude not tolerated now Courth has a plan of attack, and Chariot duly driven away. Depression and possession – neither are feelings he wants to deal with. Will Chariot ever be happy not pushing for the pinnacle of something? He wants the glory of power and rank, and Courth wants someone who is not knocked by every hurdle life throws at her. Even Strength, who has a mind capable of the focus Court wants, has too many reservations.

Judgement, Justice, Temperance. Couth bounds between them until they leave the tent entirely, even though their minds are clearest when they touch his shell. Is Temperance too cautious? Courth likes the touch of the analytical about them all the same. Justice has the direction to action he can imagine spending the rest of his life with, and he flicks past the hidden pocket of memories of the quake with ease born from doing the same himself. Judgement takes the time to think each step through in a way Courth jumps on, eager to show his own processes and cataloguing. All three are minds he could live with, if when it’s time to break the shell he can feel the same from them again.

Do any of the hopefuls feel Courth as more than sharp pinpricks and chlorine in the back of their throats? He presses and pokes and prods regardless of whether he likes what he finds or not, the intent being different behind each flash of electricity doesn't matter. He hovers and zaps, pushes for direction, and hurts those who show interest in him as much as those he wants to force away.

He wonders, later when the weyrbowl is quiet and he has the time to remember he was not the only one making first impressions, what their opinions of him are? Truly, and without the flush of just wanting a dragon. Do they think he must be one colour or another? 'Large' apparently meant whispers of a bronze or brown and he cannot help but bristle at the thought of the former while he rifles through the folders where he's filed away his knowledge on colours. Brown would be acceptable – as he'd once told Tasted Fire, he doesn't care about being special, only left alone to think, and no one expects anything of a brown even in a positive way.

It's been a busy and exciting day, he has more data on how humans think and their expectations than ever before. Courth sleeps, for once filled with an idea of what to do in an inescapable future.