2024-07-23 - Bronzes are Loud 4.6.4

Father was watching them again. This was alright, though his loud, staccato thoughts were not his favorite to listen to at length. Pertemarth's touch was much more artistic, vibrant and colorful in a way the proud bronze's was not. Of course, Mother's shining, shimmering, splendid song was the first Ilrioth had ever heard, and therefore held a special place in the dragonet's playlist of mindvoices. Mother most often thought of Them, the Weyr, and Hers - human and dragon, the melodies oft tinged with sunlight and steel. In contrast, Father seemed most commonly to think of himself, congratulating himself on what the bronze viewed as his most redeeming qualities. It was, to say the least, a repetitive song, easily fading to background noise.

Many of these thoughts seemed to focus on bronzes, and how good a bronze Father was, how he was doing Bronze Things the Best. Here again was the confusion of colors, of societal roles and expectations. Why could one not simply just be? Why did it all have to be defined by what others expected of you based on the thing society at large expected you to be? It was exhausting, truly. Ilrioth much preferred Mother's approach to relationships and the like - though having to settle for any other than one's beloved seemed horribly unfair. Who was to say Pertemarth would not have been a find clutchfather? Perhaps, if Ilrioth turned out to be blue, they would someday become clutchfather, convincing their imaginary someday partner that this could be the way things were done, that they could compose a bold new song of their own.

But such thoughts were of a future so far away it was as intangible as the as-of-yet-unseen stars above.