Claret

avrieth @ 2004-09-27T22:33:00

2006-08-14T02:34:16Z

Weyrling Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This immense cavern is the home for weyrling pairs. A huge opening is the entrance, leading to the ground level bowl. The floor is not quite smooth, being gouged with numerous scratches and cracks, from the clumsy undergrown claws on equally clumsy dragonets. The indentations on the floor, made by millennial pressure of the growing dragons, are quite suggestive of their purpose. Most of them have furs in one corner of them, as the new riders sleep as near their lifemates as they can. A particular odour lingers in the air here, not quite pleasant.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Tisiath Daikoth Avrieth Leonneth
PLAYERS: A'tan J'len Lanisa Claret M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Bowl

Breena has connected.

A'tan steps into the room with Leonneth following behind. He seems a little irritated, "No Neth! You know that we take them up and then some down." He turns and shakes his head as he makes his way over to his cot. He rummages around and tosses some dirty laundry in a basket.

I'sai enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
I'sai has arrived.

Yselle enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
Yselle has arrived.

I'sai saunters in the main barracks, dangling a set of knots from his wrist - hard to see how many, but there's a few - "Flaming time," he says matter-of-factly. "Think you're ready? Meet me by the lake: first... ten to make it there, let's say. Everyone else'll have to wait." And he's off, loping out into the bright summer afternoon.

I'sai moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
I'sai has left.

J'len moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
J'len has left.

Lanisa moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
Lanisa has left.

You move through the opening to the west, heading into the bowl.

M'tri comes out of the weyrling barracks.
M'tri has arrived.

Lanisa heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Lanisa has left.

A'tan comes out of the weyrling barracks.
A'tan has arrived.

Tisiath comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Tisiath has arrived.

M'tri heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
M'tri has left.

Avrieth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Avrieth has arrived.

Daikoth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Daikoth has arrived.

A'tan heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
A'tan has left.

Daikoth lumbers in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Daikoth has left.

You head in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass and trees around the lake resound with the bright green of summer. The lake, and the meadow around it teem with life and activity. Warmth -- the gift of summertime -- seems to lift the spirits of everything around here. Firelizards zip about the lake, taking full advantage of the season. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Daikoth Cantaneth Lysseth
PLAYERS: Kassima A'tan J'len Lanisa Claret M'tri I'sai

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Tisiath lumbers in from the central bowl.
Tisiath has arrived.

Leonneth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Leonneth has arrived.

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

Taralyth has arrived.

Yselle heads over from the central bowl.
Yselle has arrived.

Dianneth flies in from above.
Dianneth has arrived.

Sonaith lumbers in from the central bowl.
Sonaith has arrived.

Breena heads over from the central bowl.
Breena has arrived.

"Does that include me?" Yselle asks, not one of the first ten, "Cause you know, if you like I'll just go back to the barracks," she's running easily, chivvying along a pair of greenriders. "Come on you two, and don't think I'sai can't count either."

Kassima crouches by the Lake to splash water over face, hands, neck, the better to wash away dust; and if a splash or two makes its way towards Lysseth's investigating muzzle--well, the indignant dragon really shouldn't have been surprised. "Revenge is mi--" Alas, poor thought, broken off by the arrival of others, at which point she stands and gives her clothes a brisk brushing-off.

Yselle says "He's definitely got ten fingers - unless he lost a couple in that threadfall."

I'sai lopes on over to his waiting dragon, by which sits a good-sized pile of firestone - and turns back to count; one, two, three, four, five, six; at length there's the ten, and he yells out to the stragglers, "Head on back! Too slow - better luck next time!" - "You wish," he adds on a laugh. R'len looks positively sulky as he turns tail for the barracks, as if he'd meant to do this all along.

I'sai then instructs, "Wingleader, 'seconds! Assemble Icemelt. Facing the lake. Straight line," and gets himself a bagful of firestone. "Careful of Lyss, Kassi; don't want that hide singed."

"Me move faster? You're the one whose...oh who cares, we're here." Trii slows to a light jog as he surveys who's here already, breath baited and then released in a whoosh as he catches count. "Yes, third." Daikoth takes no time to rest, however. He's milking his last bit of time as a leader, just in case, and he's rumbling bossily to the other eight dragons--Leonneth is spared his wrath.

Breena's late, so much so that she very nearly misses being included in that group of ten--relief floods her face as it's someone else who's told to go back to the barracks. She takes her place in line, salutes I'sai, Yselle, and Kassima crisply, and tucks her hands behind her back, waiting. Sonaith's the one fidgeting this time, prompting a murmured word of reassurance from her weyrling.

"Her Ladyship's nay partial to that idea herself," Kassima wryly agrees, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear and guiding a dragon who does indeed move with some alacrity out of the line of fire. "Though I'm sure nay any of these fine young dragons would *ever* make such an error, etceteras, etceteras. G'deve, 'Lings," with a salute snapped to the whole bunch.

Lysseth summons a greeting-rumble for the other dragons as well, though not without casting the younger ones a Meaningful Look. There will be no singing of green hide today. Not even a little.

Yselle, of all things, winks at I'sai, and fluffs her hair as though she'd just been going out for a morning stroll. E'tan, one of the greens she was harrying looks positively horrified, nudging the other greenrider, and muttering, "Now I'm frightened." - "Nine then? Well as long as we have as many weyrlings as you have fingers," she says. "That should be enough. Good thing thread isn't falling, because classes could get /very/ low."

Lanisa slides into line, as usual, somewhere in the middle where she doesn't figure she'll stand out so much, even if Tisiath is up to his usual grand standing. She gives a sharp salute, but for her part stays quiet, though she does grin at Kassi's reply.
Claret turns her head quickly from side to side, checking to make sure she was one of the first ten before snapping an equally quick salute and murmuring to Avrieth, "No, we don't have to go back. We got here right quick," she assures before joining the line, Avrieth following with a little rumble of greeting for the other dragons.

A'tan salutes I'sai, Yselle, and Kassima before turning to the left end of the line. He looks over at M'tri and begins to get the others in order. He speaks quietly to Breena with a smile, "Almost didn't make it." He slides in next tot he others at the end. He pats Leonneth on the shoulder and let's M'tri call the line to attention.

Daikoth whirls 'round swiftly to bugle his own greeting for Kassima, then look positively appalled at the speed the line is forming. And the fact that the line is forming sort of crooked. And then, on another thought...he peers intently at Leonneth and A'tan for a good ten or fifteen seconds before bugling as loudly as he can. M'tri is quick to roll his eyes, look agitatedly at Daikoth, and then, after assuming his own strict stance, call, "Atten-hut!" That ought to do their superiors proud. Daikoth is even resisting wiggling in glee.

J'len's salute to I'sai, Yselle, the other Assistants, and Kassima is the first thing he does as Cantaneth lumbers up to join the others dragons in the inspection line. His salute to A'tan, M'tri, and the other Icemelt Wingsecond come a hairsbreadth later; he's not keen on getting more push-ups again this time around. Then he eyes the pile of firestone set out for them tonight and blanches a bit, looking between Cantaneth, the other dragons, and the firestone. He snaps to attention at the call, but his eyes remain fixed on the stone their dragons are expected to turn into fire tonight.

Once there's that atten-hut and Daikoth's bugling has stopped - Taralyth vanes his wings, eyes whirling into turquoise amusement, and exhales thickly some firestone-clouded air - I'sai starts handing out lumps of firestone as he heads down the line: one each, just enough to occupy restless hands. A'tan, M'tri and Doralle get riders' knots and low-muttered comments; that pushy greenrider, E'tan, the first wingsecond's. As he moves along, he picks on a few people at a time. Giving A'tan a break for once, "M'tri! Give us three ways to check whether your firestone is pure. J'len! Why shouldn't you take firestone chunks that're too small for your dragon?" He dangles the chunk before him, teasingly, before finally relenting and giving it to him. "Lanisa. Why shouldn't you take firestone chunks that're too -large- for your dragon? Breena - here's your wingsecond's knot, congratulations, good luck and you'll need it - why do we need firestone to be pure at all?" He gives her a long l
ook before handing the knot over.
Leonneth bugles in response to Diakoth, seeming superiority above all other. She watches the line from her end as well. He isn't the only one who can assert authority. A'tan chuckles softly at his green and speaks loudly, "WeyrlingMaster, Wing Icemelt ready for inspection and lessons Sir." He stands straight with eyes forward.

Yselle arcs an eyebrow at the class, particularly Daikoth and his bugling. /She/ doesn't straighten at that yell to attention, just says, arms folded, "Salute, M'tri, /never/ forget," apparently she caught that. "You too," eyeing one of the brownlings. "Just as soon as your wingleader is announced, I'm sure they'll find something suitable to remind you." And any looks sent her way, she just returns with a bland smile; she's almost bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly firestone or something's put her in a good mood.

Kassima leans back against Lysseth's shoulder, arms folded and pose casual enough that it might bely, were one not paying much attention, the keen interest with which she watches each Weyrling so named and quizzed. "Nay taking that bet, Lyss," she murmurs under her breath. "I think they *will* know. Cynical beast."

Claret sneaks a glance down the line at A'tan and straightens herself up a little further. As Avrieth's head swivels from dragon to person and then to the firestone, Claret rocks back on her heels, chewing her bottom lip as she waits for the other weyrling's responses, along with the question likely to be directed her way.

Breena returns A'tan's smile with a hint of apology in her eyes, then her attention's back forward again. The flurry of questions takes her by surprise, but it's the offering of the wingsecond's knot that truly causes her eyes to go wide. "I, um. Oh! Impurities. Well. The impure parts don't have the...the f..phosphine in them..?" She doesn't sound entirely certain about that, but she carries on, regardless. "Without that, there'd be no flame, sir." Pause. "Thank you, sir."

J'len straightens his shoulders as the question is directed at him. He furrows his brows briefly as he tries to remember the answer, then decides to go with what pops up first and hope. "Firestone that's too small for a dragon may not get chewed enough and could cause choking when swallowed. Or it may get over-chewed and lose its fire-producing qualities." He isn't quite as certain of the second part of that answer, but he'll soon know if he was even close.

"Yes sir." Lanisa replies and then clasps her hands behind her back before she recites her answer, when she has a clear moment that no one else is speaking, "The larger pieces are better saved for the larger dragons who should use them. If the piece is too large for your dragon, they will have a harder time chewing it. Just like if you were to take too big a bite of something it's hard to chew. A chunk of 'stone the right size they will chew easier and more efficiently."

M'tri couldn't be more grateful accepting that rider knot; he visibly relaxes, though Daikoth tries to glare holes through the weyrlingmaster as the man moves down the line. His tail swishes slightly, and then the blue settles back into the line of his once-subordinates quietly. His confidence still puffs his chest and half-fans his wings. Already in trouble; that's his rider, atta kid! Even despite Yselle's scolding (M'tri salutes belatedly at it with a still-relieved "yes'm"), the lad wracks his brain for I'sai's answer. Wrack, wrack. Eureka! "Firestone is bumpy, sir, pock-marked. It's lighter than normal rocks and the color is the same all 'round." Well, leadership at least made him do his studying.

Dianneth rumbles cheerfully at Lysseth, and Taralyth, and just because she's a big showoff, or maybe to impress Taralyth, she belches a perfect ring of smoke into the air, then a second, smaller one inside it. She twists her neck to gaze at the weyrling dragons sweetly as if waiting for applause. "Congratulations Breena," Yselle says cheerfully, wandering closer to the lake so she can say to Kassima, "Haven't caught a wingleader on fire in /turns/ Kassi, and even then it was G'tra, and he doesn't really count." Maybe she's joking, seemingly she just can't stand still. "Don't forget the Weyrlingmaster and the Wingleader," she reminds M'tri. It's just not his day. Still, she's cheerful enough in her salute back.

I'sai tells Breena, "Welcome. And aye. Couple more specific things: first, the purer it is, the bigger and more reliable the flame; and second, the easier it is on the dragon's teeth and gums. Don't want to crack a tooth on the rough spots." He nods to her, to Yselle and S'fin to start with inspections, and moves on. To J'len: "Not so much; he'll have to be chewing it himself, after all. It's more that you don't want people - including yourself - wasting the time hacking it up small when they don't have to. -Inefficient-." To Lanisa: "Exactly." No doubt, what one would expect of someone weyrbred. To M'tri, with a grin the brighter for Daikoth's glare, "You got it. And the same -particular- color, mind; obsidian's the same color all 'round, and firestone isn't it." With that, he steps out of line to return A'tan's announcement with a salute, the boy's last as wingleader, and moves on to give - _Claret_ the new wingleader's knot, and with it the easy question. "Why do we tell o
ur dragons not to bite their tongues?" Taralyth snorts; I'sai doesn't look at his dragon, just grins. "Good luck. And you can start things off by assigning M'tri something to do for that lack of salute, there." - "Meantime, everyone, get yourself a bag of firestone and sort out three lumps of the right size for you, just like we've been practicing."

M'tri practically 'ughs' aloud; perhaps that's because of Claret's question, or because of his further scolding. Either way, he braces himself. Just in case Claret decides to attack him with something worse than the crime. No salute--punishable by death. Pah. He fixes it, just snapping off a salute for everyone who needs it, including Claret now.

A'tan smiles warmly and leans a little closer, He mutters to Breena, "Congrats Bree. I... you'll do a..." He steps away and heads over for a firesack. He picks one up and and directs Leonneth to move over to the side away from the others so she won't scorch anyone. He lies his jacket down and rummages around in the sack looking at pieces, "Nope, too big." He tosses that one aside, "Hmmm, here's one Neth." He puts it in a beginning pile as the green wuffles the young man's hair. As though it really needs any more help.

Claret blinks as she's handed the new wingleader's knot, holding it for an elongated puzzled moments before she ducks her head in a nod, voicing, "Thank you, sir." After another pause, she seems to remember that a question was asked, and puts forth, "Because if we don't remind them, they might forget at first, and if they forget they might bite their tongue through, and there haven't been recorded incidents of dragonhealers being able to sew tongues back together. I don't think," she adds, and then another, "Sir."

Lysseth returns Dianneth's rumble, though the smoke ring from the other green is followed by an amused yawn from her: yeah, yeah, she'll save the impressedness for when someone out-smokes Gandalth. Besides, you should only see what *she* could do. "That long?" her rider teases Yselle, glancing over her way. "Only been three sevendays for us. Accident, though. Doing it on purpose just hasn't felt the *same* since M'rgan retired. See, Lyss, most of 'em did so know; you owe me a wherry's head," but even through such thoughts of dubious gain, she has a wide smile for her promoted mentee.

Hands full, Breena tucks the wingsecond's knot into her pocket after staring blankly at it for a moment longer. Now it's her turn to fidget again, while Sonaith looks on, amused. "Yes, sir," the young woman comments first to I'sai's elaboration of her half-answer, then she shoots a startled but pleased look A'tan's way. "Thanks." She retrieves a sack of firestone, rummaging through it to find chunks of rock that are appropriate for her lifemate's smaller stature. "Oh, hey, congratulations, Claret... I...no, sweet, it doesn't smell very good, does it? But you know that already. I..." She trails off, still sifting through to find the right ones, but the remainder of her conversation, if it continues, is silent.

Yselle snorts at Kassima, and says, "Don't think she's ever done in on /purpose/, still, she's off to do that requested inspection, still practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, offering A'tan his outgoing salute, Claret the incoming one. "Button that sleeve," she says to the first weyrling in line, the brownling who'd been tardy in saluting /earlier/. "It's not terribly amusing to catch your clothes on fire, and tie your hair back. Here," and she whips around, ties the long hair on itself in a knot, and remarks pleasantly "NEVER come to class like that again. Mind you, it'll save us all the effort of cutting it if you singe it off - Claret, when you've a moment, there's the matter of these two not saluting," that'd be M'tri and the brownrider, "And the hair." Ah, the joys of being wingleader.

Lanisa fetches her bag, then takes her time selecting just the right pieces. Not that she's slow about it, mind you, just extra selective you might say. It's three of the smaller chunks for a smaller blue, but the color looks just about dead on right and there she waits, after one experimental toss to each -- Juggling before she stills again, looking innocent as she listens.

J'len nods briefly, absorbing the correction to his answer and then smiling as the wingleadership is passed from A'tan to Claret. When the call is given to collect firestone, he steps forward to the pile and carefully sorts through about a quarter of it before he's found three pieces that fit his and Cantaneth's criteria for both size and purity. He piles the rejects to one side so that other weyrlings might not have to sort through them and reject them again; see, efficiency. He does listen on occasion. Sack in hand, he returns to Cantaneth's side as the bronze lowers his head to sniff at the sack's contents. J'len smiles and lovingly rubs the underside of his bronze's jawbone since the eyeridges are getting to be beyond even his reach without some contortions.

"That's right, wingleader," I'sai tells Claret with an approving nod. "Tongue injuries hurt, and dragons tend to get, ah, -excitable- at the prospect of flaming." Taralyth snorts quite definitively once again, and while his sharp, precise flame doesn't resemble Dianneth's smoke rings, it's _just_ right to miss his rider's head. Unperturbed, I'sai asides, "Don't try that at home," and walks down the line - it'd be be more of a stalk if it weren't quite so energetic - as he explains, "All -right-. Weyrlings! Of the human variety, that is; ask your dragons to open their mouths so you can look at their teeth. The grinding teeth that they'll use are near the back, while the ones up front are for ripping and shredding things like, oh, herdbeasts and your favorite boots." He licks a finger, holds it up, and then points: "Now, face -that- way, and feed those three pieces to your dragons, reminding them not to bite their tongues, and then to chew. A'tan! Why do we stand upwind, not do
wnwind, of the dragons' muzzles?"
A'tan frowns slightly as he continues to rummage through the bag. He talks to himself, or maybe Leonneth quietly. He steals a glance over at Lanisa and watches her for a moment before shaking his head and sighs. He picks out two more rocks and checks them, for color and for weight. He sets them aside with the other small rock. "Not too big for you. I don't want you to not have a tongue to enjoy your food dear." He mumbles again softly as he seems lost in thought.

M'tri casts a look down at Lani before hitching up his pantlegs and hunkering down beside his own sack, poking through the rocks within. He tosses plenty off to the side with unsatisfied grunts of his own, and just as many from his lifemate. A few actually earn close inspection and finally the young man has selected stones that appear suitable. "All good, wouldn't you say?" he asks the dragon, who lowers his head to rake over his rider's selections and then agree with a grunt. "Shhh, it's okay. You /knew/ they were going to change through. Now, open." Daikoth obediently opens his mouth, almost yawning in the action rather than letting Trii examine what he's supposed to be examining. "Those teeth," M'tri says, reaching right in to tap them. When his rider's arm is well clear of sharp teeth, Daikoth turns to face the way I'sai pointed and open his mouth once more.

"Once knew a dragon who was *so* excitable, they nay only took the 'stone from their rider's hands t'chew, but one of the gloves, too. His flame was a lovely leather brown forever after that." Kassima offers this tidbit with a perfectly straight face. Somehow. "So, y'know, all the more reason t'take it slow and careful."

A'tan snaps his head up as he hears his name repeating most of the question to himself, "Upwind instead of downwind from muzzles." He glances down at Leonneth as he feeds her one of the rocks, "Slow, chew. And don't forget to move your tongue." He stands tall and then looks over at the Weyrlingmaster, "Ummm, So that we don't accidently get flamed by our dragons. I personally don't like the smell that is released as well sir." He hopes his answer is close to being right.

Finally, Breena comes up with three hunks of firestone that are small enough for Sonaith, and uniform in color. She straightens, not without a quick look the way of the weyrlingmasters, to make sure that she's doing everything right thus far. "Open up," she murmurs to Sonaith, who obliges, if slowly. "No, I have to see the back teeth, you'll have to open far--yes, that's better, like that. Wow. Wouldn't want to get my fingers caught in there. Here..." She reaches in and drops the first of the three hunks of stone, hurriedly withdrawing her arm to Sonaith's amused rumble. "Chew, but be careful, go slowly. Remem...um, well, I guess you don't. Never mind."

S'fin is surprised into a laugh at Kassima's quip, but after a glance at the greenrider, he keeps his distance in favor of pointing out a buckle that apparently rusted overnight. That bluerider can learn.

Claret catches up her bag and hurries to the pile a bit belatedly to fill it with a few pieces of the smallest stone she can find. Rummaging rapidly, she's only a bit selective, though she does peer into the bag as she walks back to Avrieth, making sure there's nothing in it that looks too untoward. She returns a bright smile to Breena, adding, "Congratulations to you too." Blinking again, she looks up at the Yselle, and wrinkling her brows she remarks, "Oh, yes. Um..." Looking toward the miscreants mentioned, she asks uncertainly, "Does that mean punishment, or..."

I'sai tells A'tan, "Close. Wind won't keep you from getting flamed, unless it's a -really- rough gust or you were nearly safe on your own. It'll keep you from getting as ashy, though, and aye, the smell - not only does it smell bad, but you can get to coughing and get distracted." Taralyth glances at Avrieth; his rider looks at Clareth a heartbeat later. "What? Aye. Use your best judgement." Although he does help enough to say, "I'm always a fan of pushups," not that that's likely to be a surprise by now. To everyone, called out to carry over the noise of crunching stone, "When it feels small enough, ask 'em to swallow, and -think of their second stomachs!- Just like we've talked about. Second stomachs! And remind them not to look over at someone else, even if they're really curious. Don't want anyone singed by accident." After that, it'll be a bit of a wait.

Lanisa sends a slightly nervous glance M'tri's way and then careful she and Tisiath move to face as indicated -before- the blue gets the first stone. And then, Lani's forgetting again as she mumbles to the blue. "That's it shift it back, between your teeth. Got it?" - "Tongue's all clear? Yes I know you know but I'm reminding you anyway." Then another glance, this one to I'sai and she nods, "You heard him, Tisi. Go on, chew it small enough, second stomach."

Kassima favors S'fin with a sweet smile, an innocent and large-eyed blink--and an exaggerated finger-snap when he turns away. Foiled again. Not that the bluerider can keep her attention long, with Weyrlings selecting their 'stone and feeding. She might not be able to see how they do, but Lysseth is good enough to crane her neck and try to put her higher vantage to good use.

Yselle, in her inspection, pauses by A'tan. She just stares at him for the longest time, and then, in a calm measured tone, asks, "You do realise that you're wearing two left shoes, A'tan? And that lace is going to snap shortly if you're not careful," apparently it doesn't require special treatment, because as she passes Claret, she answers her question, "Yes, you're assigned to M'tri's and Jalyce's punishment. M'tri for -twice- forgetting to salute, and Jalyce for that and general untidiness in class. Best clean that buckle when you get back to the barracks, Claret." Breena's offered an approving nod and a "Wingsecond," apparently she's the good candidate, M'tri is told, "That hair of yours is a disgrace, still it's not likely to injure you." And so on.

A'tan pulls his hand away from Leonneth's mouth as he hears Yselle speaking to him. He looks up at her, "Two?" His face reddens quickly as he looks down at the shoes. He slaps his hand to his forehead and grimaces, "I can't believe I..." He looks at Leonneth who is still chewing, "Yes the back ones and your second stomach. No I didn't forget how to dress myself." He frowns at his green and then feeds her the last stone. He watches Yselle walk away and breaths a little easier as he glances at the other weyrlings and their dragons.

Dianneth, meanwhile, watches Taralyth's display with some interest, and contemplates his rider like a hunter might a wild porcine. She huffs some more smoke in his direction. Maybe she'll even ring /him/. Then she cocks her head as if waiting for the approbation of the assembled dragons.

Claret nods at Yselle passing comment on the dirty buckle, voicing a "Yes ma'am," before turning an uncertain gaze to M'tri and then to Jalyce. "Right. Extra laps then, I guess. I mean, I know," she adds, trying not to sound uncertain about it. "Tomorrow, that is." That over with, Claret sticks her hand into the bag, and inspecting the firestone once more, and a bit more carefully this time, for size and purity, she looks tentatively up toward Avrieth, who bends her neck down, eyes whirling with readiness for the next new task. "Remember," Claret murmurs under her breath as she offers up the 'stone to Avrieth. "Second stomach. Second stomach, second stomach," she repeats quietly to herself, watching Avrieth intently as she starts crunching on the stone.

M'tri's face contorts into a wince as he drops the first piece into Daikoth's mouth. Crunching away, Daikoth doesn't seem to mind the fact that he sounds completely /monsterous/. M'tri's own hand finds his jaw as the blue masticates thoroughly. "Eeh, that--my hair?" Daikoth makes a move to turn his head to face the passing AWLM. "No, Daikoth, you keep chewing. And watch your tongue. No, not literally, just...make sure you don't bite it." Any conversation about hair is discarded in favor of Daikoth's swallowing and picturing the proper stomach. Keeping a hand alongside Daikoth's muzzle, Trii absently "Yes, Wingleader"s to Claret.

"Here, have another," says Breena to Sonaith, sparing a quick glance and a grateful smile to Yselle. "Second stomach, remember. Chew slowly now, don't bite your tongue." Pause. "I...no, no, you're fine, but I'm supposed to be here to remind you." Crunch, crunch, crunch--Sonaith puts those back teeth to work and, tailtip twitching, she swallows and waits, nearly looking back toward her weyrling, but for the sharp, "Don't! Remember what the Weyrlingmaster said, no looking around."

Dragon> Avrieth senses that Dianneth rumbles a warning. << Yselle says yours must be more certain of herself. Taralyth's has given her command, and Taralyth's knows a rider with talent when he sees one. >> After all, he chose /her/ rider, did he not?

Leonneth chew, chew, chew. She watches Taralyth as he blows rings. Rings! Oh please. Anyone can blow rings. She chews some more and then looks up at A'tan as he points away from him. "I don't want my eyebrows singed off Neth. Blow that way." She tilts her head as her stomach begins to rumble. She stands very still but unfurls her wings for some balance. The rumbling gets a little louder. What is that? Her eyes begin to whirl a little faster. Rings, yep gonna make rings. The rumble travels up her throat as she lets out a loud belch, "Blechch." making the small green fall backwards with a suprised look as smoke curls from her nose.

K'ran heads over from the central bowl.
K'ran has arrived.

Yselle pauses to look back at Claret. Dianneth rumbles Avriethwards. "Extra laps," she repeats, as if to emphasize the new wingleader's words. "Two /different/ shoes - makes it easier to walk," she calls back to A'tan. It's not unkind, and she even manages not to smile too much. Lanisa is allowed a nod as she passes. "Looking good weyrling," she says. J'len likewise receives an approving nod. Then, with that grin for the weyrlingmaster, she snaps off a salute and says, "All accounted for, sir, how're those fingers?" She stands, feet apart, next to him, shoves her hands behind her back and looks over at the weyrlings expectantly, "Jalyce, tell him to chew a bit more enthusiastic than that or he'll be going at it whilst the others are coughing up ash."

One of the browns, thankfully over to the side and out of range, turns his head inquisitively as he notices the weyrleader approaching... right through his first trickle of flame. His rider panicks and physically shoves on the dragon's neck to get him back in line, the brown moving back with a disappointed grunt more at the reminder than the force itself.

A second and then a third chunk follow in succession for Tisiath. Each carefully chewed, each carefully swallowed, and Lani murmuring away the whole time as usual. And then they settle in to wait. But as they do, Lani's edging a step or to back along the blue's side. Where she can still watch, just, you know, not be in the line of inexperienced fire. She manages a nod back to Yselle accompanied by a smile. But it's short lived as she waits on her blue.

Avrieth> Dianneth senses that Avrieth's responding rumble is full of pride, laced quite liberally with indignation and a bit of worry. <

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Weyrling Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This immense cavern is the home for weyrling pairs. A huge opening is the entrance, leading to the ground level bowl. The floor is not quite smooth, being gouged with numerous scratches and cracks, from the clumsy undergrown claws on equally clumsy dragonets. The indentations on the floor, made by millennial pressure of the growing dragons, are quite suggestive of their purpose. Most of them have furs in one corner of them, as the new riders sleep as near their lifemates as they can. A particular odour lingers in the air here, not quite pleasant.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Tisiath Daikoth Avrieth Leonneth
PLAYERS: A'tan J'len Lanisa Claret M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Bowl

Breena has connected.

A'tan steps into the room with Leonneth following behind. He seems a little irritated, "No Neth! You know that we take them up and then some down." He turns and shakes his head as he makes his way over to his cot. He rummages around and tosses some dirty laundry in a basket.

I'sai enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
I'sai has arrived.

Yselle enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
Yselle has arrived.

I'sai saunters in the main barracks, dangling a set of knots from his wrist - hard to see how many, but there's a few - "Flaming time," he says matter-of-factly. "Think you're ready? Meet me by the lake: first... ten to make it there, let's say. Everyone else'll have to wait." And he's off, loping out into the bright summer afternoon.

I'sai moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
I'sai has left.

J'len moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
J'len has left.

Lanisa moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
Lanisa has left.

You move through the opening to the west, heading into the bowl.

M'tri comes out of the weyrling barracks.
M'tri has arrived.

Lanisa heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Lanisa has left.

A'tan comes out of the weyrling barracks.
A'tan has arrived.

Tisiath comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Tisiath has arrived.

M'tri heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
M'tri has left.

Avrieth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Avrieth has arrived.

Daikoth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Daikoth has arrived.

A'tan heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
A'tan has left.

Daikoth lumbers in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Daikoth has left.

You head in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass and trees around the lake resound with the bright green of summer. The lake, and the meadow around it teem with life and activity. Warmth -- the gift of summertime -- seems to lift the spirits of everything around here. Firelizards zip about the lake, taking full advantage of the season. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Daikoth Cantaneth Lysseth
PLAYERS: Kassima A'tan J'len Lanisa Claret M'tri I'sai

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Tisiath lumbers in from the central bowl.
Tisiath has arrived.

Leonneth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Leonneth has arrived.

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

Taralyth has arrived.

Yselle heads over from the central bowl.
Yselle has arrived.

Dianneth flies in from above.
Dianneth has arrived.

Sonaith lumbers in from the central bowl.
Sonaith has arrived.

Breena heads over from the central bowl.
Breena has arrived.

"Does that include me?" Yselle asks, not one of the first ten, "Cause you know, if you like I'll just go back to the barracks," she's running easily, chivvying along a pair of greenriders. "Come on you two, and don't think I'sai can't count either."

Kassima crouches by the Lake to splash water over face, hands, neck, the better to wash away dust; and if a splash or two makes its way towards Lysseth's investigating muzzle--well, the indignant dragon really shouldn't have been surprised. "Revenge is mi--" Alas, poor thought, broken off by the arrival of others, at which point she stands and gives her clothes a brisk brushing-off.

Yselle says "He's definitely got ten fingers - unless he lost a couple in that threadfall."

I'sai lopes on over to his waiting dragon, by which sits a good-sized pile of firestone - and turns back to count; one, two, three, four, five, six; at length there's the ten, and he yells out to the stragglers, "Head on back! Too slow - better luck next time!" - "You wish," he adds on a laugh. R'len looks positively sulky as he turns tail for the barracks, as if he'd meant to do this all along.

I'sai then instructs, "Wingleader, 'seconds! Assemble Icemelt. Facing the lake. Straight line," and gets himself a bagful of firestone. "Careful of Lyss, Kassi; don't want that hide singed."

"Me move faster? You're the one whose...oh who cares, we're here." Trii slows to a light jog as he surveys who's here already, breath baited and then released in a whoosh as he catches count. "Yes, third." Daikoth takes no time to rest, however. He's milking his last bit of time as a leader, just in case, and he's rumbling bossily to the other eight dragons--Leonneth is spared his wrath.

Breena's late, so much so that she very nearly misses being included in that group of ten--relief floods her face as it's someone else who's told to go back to the barracks. She takes her place in line, salutes I'sai, Yselle, and Kassima crisply, and tucks her hands behind her back, waiting. Sonaith's the one fidgeting this time, prompting a murmured word of reassurance from her weyrling.

"Her Ladyship's nay partial to that idea herself," Kassima wryly agrees, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear and guiding a dragon who does indeed move with some alacrity out of the line of fire. "Though I'm sure nay any of these fine young dragons would *ever* make such an error, etceteras, etceteras. G'deve, 'Lings," with a salute snapped to the whole bunch.

Lysseth summons a greeting-rumble for the other dragons as well, though not without casting the younger ones a Meaningful Look. There will be no singing of green hide today. Not even a little.

Yselle, of all things, winks at I'sai, and fluffs her hair as though she'd just been going out for a morning stroll. E'tan, one of the greens she was harrying looks positively horrified, nudging the other greenrider, and muttering, "Now I'm frightened." - "Nine then? Well as long as we have as many weyrlings as you have fingers," she says. "That should be enough. Good thing thread isn't falling, because classes could get /very/ low."

Lanisa slides into line, as usual, somewhere in the middle where she doesn't figure she'll stand out so much, even if Tisiath is up to his usual grand standing. She gives a sharp salute, but for her part stays quiet, though she does grin at Kassi's reply.
Claret turns her head quickly from side to side, checking to make sure she was one of the first ten before snapping an equally quick salute and murmuring to Avrieth, "No, we don't have to go back. We got here right quick," she assures before joining the line, Avrieth following with a little rumble of greeting for the other dragons.

A'tan salutes I'sai, Yselle, and Kassima before turning to the left end of the line. He looks over at M'tri and begins to get the others in order. He speaks quietly to Breena with a smile, "Almost didn't make it." He slides in next tot he others at the end. He pats Leonneth on the shoulder and let's M'tri call the line to attention.

Daikoth whirls 'round swiftly to bugle his own greeting for Kassima, then look positively appalled at the speed the line is forming. And the fact that the line is forming sort of crooked. And then, on another thought...he peers intently at Leonneth and A'tan for a good ten or fifteen seconds before bugling as loudly as he can. M'tri is quick to roll his eyes, look agitatedly at Daikoth, and then, after assuming his own strict stance, call, "Atten-hut!" That ought to do their superiors proud. Daikoth is even resisting wiggling in glee.

J'len's salute to I'sai, Yselle, the other Assistants, and Kassima is the first thing he does as Cantaneth lumbers up to join the others dragons in the inspection line. His salute to A'tan, M'tri, and the other Icemelt Wingsecond come a hairsbreadth later; he's not keen on getting more push-ups again this time around. Then he eyes the pile of firestone set out for them tonight and blanches a bit, looking between Cantaneth, the other dragons, and the firestone. He snaps to attention at the call, but his eyes remain fixed on the stone their dragons are expected to turn into fire tonight.

Once there's that atten-hut and Daikoth's bugling has stopped - Taralyth vanes his wings, eyes whirling into turquoise amusement, and exhales thickly some firestone-clouded air - I'sai starts handing out lumps of firestone as he heads down the line: one each, just enough to occupy restless hands. A'tan, M'tri and Doralle get riders' knots and low-muttered comments; that pushy greenrider, E'tan, the first wingsecond's. As he moves along, he picks on a few people at a time. Giving A'tan a break for once, "M'tri! Give us three ways to check whether your firestone is pure. J'len! Why shouldn't you take firestone chunks that're too small for your dragon?" He dangles the chunk before him, teasingly, before finally relenting and giving it to him. "Lanisa. Why shouldn't you take firestone chunks that're too -large- for your dragon? Breena - here's your wingsecond's knot, congratulations, good luck and you'll need it - why do we need firestone to be pure at all?" He gives her a long l
ook before handing the knot over.
Leonneth bugles in response to Diakoth, seeming superiority above all other. She watches the line from her end as well. He isn't the only one who can assert authority. A'tan chuckles softly at his green and speaks loudly, "WeyrlingMaster, Wing Icemelt ready for inspection and lessons Sir." He stands straight with eyes forward.

Yselle arcs an eyebrow at the class, particularly Daikoth and his bugling. /She/ doesn't straighten at that yell to attention, just says, arms folded, "Salute, M'tri, /never/ forget," apparently she caught that. "You too," eyeing one of the brownlings. "Just as soon as your wingleader is announced, I'm sure they'll find something suitable to remind you." And any looks sent her way, she just returns with a bland smile; she's almost bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly firestone or something's put her in a good mood.

Kassima leans back against Lysseth's shoulder, arms folded and pose casual enough that it might bely, were one not paying much attention, the keen interest with which she watches each Weyrling so named and quizzed. "Nay taking that bet, Lyss," she murmurs under her breath. "I think they *will* know. Cynical beast."

Claret sneaks a glance down the line at A'tan and straightens herself up a little further. As Avrieth's head swivels from dragon to person and then to the firestone, Claret rocks back on her heels, chewing her bottom lip as she waits for the other weyrling's responses, along with the question likely to be directed her way.

Breena returns A'tan's smile with a hint of apology in her eyes, then her attention's back forward again. The flurry of questions takes her by surprise, but it's the offering of the wingsecond's knot that truly causes her eyes to go wide. "I, um. Oh! Impurities. Well. The impure parts don't have the...the f..phosphine in them..?" She doesn't sound entirely certain about that, but she carries on, regardless. "Without that, there'd be no flame, sir." Pause. "Thank you, sir."

J'len straightens his shoulders as the question is directed at him. He furrows his brows briefly as he tries to remember the answer, then decides to go with what pops up first and hope. "Firestone that's too small for a dragon may not get chewed enough and could cause choking when swallowed. Or it may get over-chewed and lose its fire-producing qualities." He isn't quite as certain of the second part of that answer, but he'll soon know if he was even close.

"Yes sir." Lanisa replies and then clasps her hands behind her back before she recites her answer, when she has a clear moment that no one else is speaking, "The larger pieces are better saved for the larger dragons who should use them. If the piece is too large for your dragon, they will have a harder time chewing it. Just like if you were to take too big a bite of something it's hard to chew. A chunk of 'stone the right size they will chew easier and more efficiently."

M'tri couldn't be more grateful accepting that rider knot; he visibly relaxes, though Daikoth tries to glare holes through the weyrlingmaster as the man moves down the line. His tail swishes slightly, and then the blue settles back into the line of his once-subordinates quietly. His confidence still puffs his chest and half-fans his wings. Already in trouble; that's his rider, atta kid! Even despite Yselle's scolding (M'tri salutes belatedly at it with a still-relieved "yes'm"), the lad wracks his brain for I'sai's answer. Wrack, wrack. Eureka! "Firestone is bumpy, sir, pock-marked. It's lighter than normal rocks and the color is the same all 'round." Well, leadership at least made him do his studying.

Dianneth rumbles cheerfully at Lysseth, and Taralyth, and just because she's a big showoff, or maybe to impress Taralyth, she belches a perfect ring of smoke into the air, then a second, smaller one inside it. She twists her neck to gaze at the weyrling dragons sweetly as if waiting for applause. "Congratulations Breena," Yselle says cheerfully, wandering closer to the lake so she can say to Kassima, "Haven't caught a wingleader on fire in /turns/ Kassi, and even then it was G'tra, and he doesn't really count." Maybe she's joking, seemingly she just can't stand still. "Don't forget the Weyrlingmaster and the Wingleader," she reminds M'tri. It's just not his day. Still, she's cheerful enough in her salute back.

I'sai tells Breena, "Welcome. And aye. Couple more specific things: first, the purer it is, the bigger and more reliable the flame; and second, the easier it is on the dragon's teeth and gums. Don't want to crack a tooth on the rough spots." He nods to her, to Yselle and S'fin to start with inspections, and moves on. To J'len: "Not so much; he'll have to be chewing it himself, after all. It's more that you don't want people - including yourself - wasting the time hacking it up small when they don't have to. -Inefficient-." To Lanisa: "Exactly." No doubt, what one would expect of someone weyrbred. To M'tri, with a grin the brighter for Daikoth's glare, "You got it. And the same -particular- color, mind; obsidian's the same color all 'round, and firestone isn't it." With that, he steps out of line to return A'tan's announcement with a salute, the boy's last as wingleader, and moves on to give - _Claret_ the new wingleader's knot, and with it the easy question. "Why do we tell o
ur dragons not to bite their tongues?" Taralyth snorts; I'sai doesn't look at his dragon, just grins. "Good luck. And you can start things off by assigning M'tri something to do for that lack of salute, there." - "Meantime, everyone, get yourself a bag of firestone and sort out three lumps of the right size for you, just like we've been practicing."

M'tri practically 'ughs' aloud; perhaps that's because of Claret's question, or because of his further scolding. Either way, he braces himself. Just in case Claret decides to attack him with something worse than the crime. No salute--punishable by death. Pah. He fixes it, just snapping off a salute for everyone who needs it, including Claret now.

A'tan smiles warmly and leans a little closer, He mutters to Breena, "Congrats Bree. I... you'll do a..." He steps away and heads over for a firesack. He picks one up and and directs Leonneth to move over to the side away from the others so she won't scorch anyone. He lies his jacket down and rummages around in the sack looking at pieces, "Nope, too big." He tosses that one aside, "Hmmm, here's one Neth." He puts it in a beginning pile as the green wuffles the young man's hair. As though it really needs any more help.

Claret blinks as she's handed the new wingleader's knot, holding it for an elongated puzzled moments before she ducks her head in a nod, voicing, "Thank you, sir." After another pause, she seems to remember that a question was asked, and puts forth, "Because if we don't remind them, they might forget at first, and if they forget they might bite their tongue through, and there haven't been recorded incidents of dragonhealers being able to sew tongues back together. I don't think," she adds, and then another, "Sir."

Lysseth returns Dianneth's rumble, though the smoke ring from the other green is followed by an amused yawn from her: yeah, yeah, she'll save the impressedness for when someone out-smokes Gandalth. Besides, you should only see what *she* could do. "That long?" her rider teases Yselle, glancing over her way. "Only been three sevendays for us. Accident, though. Doing it on purpose just hasn't felt the *same* since M'rgan retired. See, Lyss, most of 'em did so know; you owe me a wherry's head," but even through such thoughts of dubious gain, she has a wide smile for her promoted mentee.

Hands full, Breena tucks the wingsecond's knot into her pocket after staring blankly at it for a moment longer. Now it's her turn to fidget again, while Sonaith looks on, amused. "Yes, sir," the young woman comments first to I'sai's elaboration of her half-answer, then she shoots a startled but pleased look A'tan's way. "Thanks." She retrieves a sack of firestone, rummaging through it to find chunks of rock that are appropriate for her lifemate's smaller stature. "Oh, hey, congratulations, Claret... I...no, sweet, it doesn't smell very good, does it? But you know that already. I..." She trails off, still sifting through to find the right ones, but the remainder of her conversation, if it continues, is silent.

Yselle snorts at Kassima, and says, "Don't think she's ever done in on /purpose/, still, she's off to do that requested inspection, still practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, offering A'tan his outgoing salute, Claret the incoming one. "Button that sleeve," she says to the first weyrling in line, the brownling who'd been tardy in saluting /earlier/. "It's not terribly amusing to catch your clothes on fire, and tie your hair back. Here," and she whips around, ties the long hair on itself in a knot, and remarks pleasantly "NEVER come to class like that again. Mind you, it'll save us all the effort of cutting it if you singe it off - Claret, when you've a moment, there's the matter of these two not saluting," that'd be M'tri and the brownrider, "And the hair." Ah, the joys of being wingleader.

Lanisa fetches her bag, then takes her time selecting just the right pieces. Not that she's slow about it, mind you, just extra selective you might say. It's three of the smaller chunks for a smaller blue, but the color looks just about dead on right and there she waits, after one experimental toss to each -- Juggling before she stills again, looking innocent as she listens.

J'len nods briefly, absorbing the correction to his answer and then smiling as the wingleadership is passed from A'tan to Claret. When the call is given to collect firestone, he steps forward to the pile and carefully sorts through about a quarter of it before he's found three pieces that fit his and Cantaneth's criteria for both size and purity. He piles the rejects to one side so that other weyrlings might not have to sort through them and reject them again; see, efficiency. He does listen on occasion. Sack in hand, he returns to Cantaneth's side as the bronze lowers his head to sniff at the sack's contents. J'len smiles and lovingly rubs the underside of his bronze's jawbone since the eyeridges are getting to be beyond even his reach without some contortions.

"That's right, wingleader," I'sai tells Claret with an approving nod. "Tongue injuries hurt, and dragons tend to get, ah, -excitable- at the prospect of flaming." Taralyth snorts quite definitively once again, and while his sharp, precise flame doesn't resemble Dianneth's smoke rings, it's _just_ right to miss his rider's head. Unperturbed, I'sai asides, "Don't try that at home," and walks down the line - it'd be be more of a stalk if it weren't quite so energetic - as he explains, "All -right-. Weyrlings! Of the human variety, that is; ask your dragons to open their mouths so you can look at their teeth. The grinding teeth that they'll use are near the back, while the ones up front are for ripping and shredding things like, oh, herdbeasts and your favorite boots." He licks a finger, holds it up, and then points: "Now, face -that- way, and feed those three pieces to your dragons, reminding them not to bite their tongues, and then to chew. A'tan! Why do we stand upwind, not do
wnwind, of the dragons' muzzles?"
A'tan frowns slightly as he continues to rummage through the bag. He talks to himself, or maybe Leonneth quietly. He steals a glance over at Lanisa and watches her for a moment before shaking his head and sighs. He picks out two more rocks and checks them, for color and for weight. He sets them aside with the other small rock. "Not too big for you. I don't want you to not have a tongue to enjoy your food dear." He mumbles again softly as he seems lost in thought.

M'tri casts a look down at Lani before hitching up his pantlegs and hunkering down beside his own sack, poking through the rocks within. He tosses plenty off to the side with unsatisfied grunts of his own, and just as many from his lifemate. A few actually earn close inspection and finally the young man has selected stones that appear suitable. "All good, wouldn't you say?" he asks the dragon, who lowers his head to rake over his rider's selections and then agree with a grunt. "Shhh, it's okay. You /knew/ they were going to change through. Now, open." Daikoth obediently opens his mouth, almost yawning in the action rather than letting Trii examine what he's supposed to be examining. "Those teeth," M'tri says, reaching right in to tap them. When his rider's arm is well clear of sharp teeth, Daikoth turns to face the way I'sai pointed and open his mouth once more.

"Once knew a dragon who was *so* excitable, they nay only took the 'stone from their rider's hands t'chew, but one of the gloves, too. His flame was a lovely leather brown forever after that." Kassima offers this tidbit with a perfectly straight face. Somehow. "So, y'know, all the more reason t'take it slow and careful."

A'tan snaps his head up as he hears his name repeating most of the question to himself, "Upwind instead of downwind from muzzles." He glances down at Leonneth as he feeds her one of the rocks, "Slow, chew. And don't forget to move your tongue." He stands tall and then looks over at the Weyrlingmaster, "Ummm, So that we don't accidently get flamed by our dragons. I personally don't like the smell that is released as well sir." He hopes his answer is close to being right.

Finally, Breena comes up with three hunks of firestone that are small enough for Sonaith, and uniform in color. She straightens, not without a quick look the way of the weyrlingmasters, to make sure that she's doing everything right thus far. "Open up," she murmurs to Sonaith, who obliges, if slowly. "No, I have to see the back teeth, you'll have to open far--yes, that's better, like that. Wow. Wouldn't want to get my fingers caught in there. Here..." She reaches in and drops the first of the three hunks of stone, hurriedly withdrawing her arm to Sonaith's amused rumble. "Chew, but be careful, go slowly. Remem...um, well, I guess you don't. Never mind."

S'fin is surprised into a laugh at Kassima's quip, but after a glance at the greenrider, he keeps his distance in favor of pointing out a buckle that apparently rusted overnight. That bluerider can learn.

Claret catches up her bag and hurries to the pile a bit belatedly to fill it with a few pieces of the smallest stone she can find. Rummaging rapidly, she's only a bit selective, though she does peer into the bag as she walks back to Avrieth, making sure there's nothing in it that looks too untoward. She returns a bright smile to Breena, adding, "Congratulations to you too." Blinking again, she looks up at the Yselle, and wrinkling her brows she remarks, "Oh, yes. Um..." Looking toward the miscreants mentioned, she asks uncertainly, "Does that mean punishment, or..."

I'sai tells A'tan, "Close. Wind won't keep you from getting flamed, unless it's a -really- rough gust or you were nearly safe on your own. It'll keep you from getting as ashy, though, and aye, the smell - not only does it smell bad, but you can get to coughing and get distracted." Taralyth glances at Avrieth; his rider looks at Clareth a heartbeat later. "What? Aye. Use your best judgement." Although he does help enough to say, "I'm always a fan of pushups," not that that's likely to be a surprise by now. To everyone, called out to carry over the noise of crunching stone, "When it feels small enough, ask 'em to swallow, and -think of their second stomachs!- Just like we've talked about. Second stomachs! And remind them not to look over at someone else, even if they're really curious. Don't want anyone singed by accident." After that, it'll be a bit of a wait.

Lanisa sends a slightly nervous glance M'tri's way and then careful she and Tisiath move to face as indicated -before- the blue gets the first stone. And then, Lani's forgetting again as she mumbles to the blue. "That's it shift it back, between your teeth. Got it?" - "Tongue's all clear? Yes I know you know but I'm reminding you anyway." Then another glance, this one to I'sai and she nods, "You heard him, Tisi. Go on, chew it small enough, second stomach."

Kassima favors S'fin with a sweet smile, an innocent and large-eyed blink--and an exaggerated finger-snap when he turns away. Foiled again. Not that the bluerider can keep her attention long, with Weyrlings selecting their 'stone and feeding. She might not be able to see how they do, but Lysseth is good enough to crane her neck and try to put her higher vantage to good use.

Yselle, in her inspection, pauses by A'tan. She just stares at him for the longest time, and then, in a calm measured tone, asks, "You do realise that you're wearing two left shoes, A'tan? And that lace is going to snap shortly if you're not careful," apparently it doesn't require special treatment, because as she passes Claret, she answers her question, "Yes, you're assigned to M'tri's and Jalyce's punishment. M'tri for -twice- forgetting to salute, and Jalyce for that and general untidiness in class. Best clean that buckle when you get back to the barracks, Claret." Breena's offered an approving nod and a "Wingsecond," apparently she's the good candidate, M'tri is told, "That hair of yours is a disgrace, still it's not likely to injure you." And so on.

A'tan pulls his hand away from Leonneth's mouth as he hears Yselle speaking to him. He looks up at her, "Two?" His face reddens quickly as he looks down at the shoes. He slaps his hand to his forehead and grimaces, "I can't believe I..." He looks at Leonneth who is still chewing, "Yes the back ones and your second stomach. No I didn't forget how to dress myself." He frowns at his green and then feeds her the last stone. He watches Yselle walk away and breaths a little easier as he glances at the other weyrlings and their dragons.

Dianneth, meanwhile, watches Taralyth's display with some interest, and contemplates his rider like a hunter might a wild porcine. She huffs some more smoke in his direction. Maybe she'll even ring /him/. Then she cocks her head as if waiting for the approbation of the assembled dragons.

Claret nods at Yselle passing comment on the dirty buckle, voicing a "Yes ma'am," before turning an uncertain gaze to M'tri and then to Jalyce. "Right. Extra laps then, I guess. I mean, I know," she adds, trying not to sound uncertain about it. "Tomorrow, that is." That over with, Claret sticks her hand into the bag, and inspecting the firestone once more, and a bit more carefully this time, for size and purity, she looks tentatively up toward Avrieth, who bends her neck down, eyes whirling with readiness for the next new task. "Remember," Claret murmurs under her breath as she offers up the 'stone to Avrieth. "Second stomach. Second stomach, second stomach," she repeats quietly to herself, watching Avrieth intently as she starts crunching on the stone.

M'tri's face contorts into a wince as he drops the first piece into Daikoth's mouth. Crunching away, Daikoth doesn't seem to mind the fact that he sounds completely /monsterous/. M'tri's own hand finds his jaw as the blue masticates thoroughly. "Eeh, that--my hair?" Daikoth makes a move to turn his head to face the passing AWLM. "No, Daikoth, you keep chewing. And watch your tongue. No, not literally, just...make sure you don't bite it." Any conversation about hair is discarded in favor of Daikoth's swallowing and picturing the proper stomach. Keeping a hand alongside Daikoth's muzzle, Trii absently "Yes, Wingleader"s to Claret.

"Here, have another," says Breena to Sonaith, sparing a quick glance and a grateful smile to Yselle. "Second stomach, remember. Chew slowly now, don't bite your tongue." Pause. "I...no, no, you're fine, but I'm supposed to be here to remind you." Crunch, crunch, crunch--Sonaith puts those back teeth to work and, tailtip twitching, she swallows and waits, nearly looking back toward her weyrling, but for the sharp, "Don't! Remember what the Weyrlingmaster said, no looking around."

Dragon> Avrieth senses that Dianneth rumbles a warning. << Yselle says yours must be more certain of herself. Taralyth's has given her command, and Taralyth's knows a rider with talent when he sees one. >> After all, he chose /her/ rider, did he not?

Leonneth chew, chew, chew. She watches Taralyth as he blows rings. Rings! Oh please. Anyone can blow rings. She chews some more and then looks up at A'tan as he points away from him. "I don't want my eyebrows singed off Neth. Blow that way." She tilts her head as her stomach begins to rumble. She stands very still but unfurls her wings for some balance. The rumbling gets a little louder. What is that? Her eyes begin to whirl a little faster. Rings, yep gonna make rings. The rumble travels up her throat as she lets out a loud belch, "Blechch." making the small green fall backwards with a suprised look as smoke curls from her nose.

K'ran heads over from the central bowl.
K'ran has arrived.

Yselle pauses to look back at Claret. Dianneth rumbles Avriethwards. "Extra laps," she repeats, as if to emphasize the new wingleader's words. "Two /different/ shoes - makes it easier to walk," she calls back to A'tan. It's not unkind, and she even manages not to smile too much. Lanisa is allowed a nod as she passes. "Looking good weyrling," she says. J'len likewise receives an approving nod. Then, with that grin for the weyrlingmaster, she snaps off a salute and says, "All accounted for, sir, how're those fingers?" She stands, feet apart, next to him, shoves her hands behind her back and looks over at the weyrlings expectantly, "Jalyce, tell him to chew a bit more enthusiastic than that or he'll be going at it whilst the others are coughing up ash."

One of the browns, thankfully over to the side and out of range, turns his head inquisitively as he notices the weyrleader approaching... right through his first trickle of flame. His rider panicks and physically shoves on the dragon's neck to get him back in line, the brown moving back with a disappointed grunt more at the reminder than the force itself.

A second and then a third chunk follow in succession for Tisiath. Each carefully chewed, each carefully swallowed, and Lani murmuring away the whole time as usual. And then they settle in to wait. But as they do, Lani's edging a step or to back along the blue's side. Where she can still watch, just, you know, not be in the line of inexperienced fire. She manages a nod back to Yselle accompanied by a smile. But it's short lived as she waits on her blue.

Avrieth> Dianneth senses that Avrieth's responding rumble is full of pride, laced quite liberally with indignation and a bit of worry. <<My rider is good at everything. But I will offer her advice, anyway.>>

I'sai's nod confirms the salute as he returns from seeing to another pair, and then he waves his his hands for his assistant to see - with an index finger tucked back as if he'd only nine. "Same as usual," he tells her. "Same as usual." - "Afternoon; wise to keep your distance!" he adds more loudly in K'ran's direction before Taralyth reinforces the warning to the young dragons: no, -don't- look at whoever's approaching. Don't want to flame your lifemates. Really.

"If'n they flame anyone by accident, the Weyrlingmasters will probably make you clean up the charred bones and ashes, too. And such things *smell*," Kassi calls. She's just a repository of oh-so-helpful tips for the Weyrlings tonight.

Cantaneth chews the pieces of stone as J'len feeds them through, a look of intense concentration on both of their faces. With each piece, J'len recites the undertone of 'second stomach, second stomach, avoid the tongue'. At first, he is taken by suprise at just how /loud/ the chewing of firestone is from this close, but then common sense kicks him in the head. It is rock, after all. When the last piece has been deposited in the bronze's waiting mouth, he makes certain to be firmly upwind and directs Cantaneth to point his muzzle straight away in the instructed direction. He raises his eyebrows to Yselle as she passes by, but maintains the litany until he gets this echoed feeling of heaviness in his belly from Cantaneth... this about a half-second before Cantaneth lets out a *BhicELCHic* and a tiny stream of fire escapes barely past the end of his muzzle, sputtering in and out for a few seconds before the belch ends and he closes his mouth again.

S'fin calls in his turn, "And if they flame by purpose, it'll be your stew tonight!" And then he looks faintly shocked at himself, and hurries away from stray greenriders again.

K'ran quits his approach, at first in reaction to the young brown's wandering flame; I'sai's warning lengthens his pause. His expression's increasingly disapproving as his gaze wanders across the lesson and its spectators, but he says nothing, instead simply turning around and heading back the way he came.

K'ran heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
K'ran has left.

Yselle snickers at I'sai and his finger. "I /thought/ we were a little short on numbers today," she says, making a show of inspecting the fingers. She too follows the general glance over to K'ran, and offers the Weyrleader a warm smile. "Weyrlings, just remember, the Weyrleader approves all wing postings," she says, grinning. "Best to keep your flame from him." Still, as he leaves, she frowns too, thoughtful.

As Daikoth attempts to turn his head again, M'tri looses his cool. Sure, his dragon wouldn't set him on fire on purpose, but that's just not comforting him. Seeking shelter beneath one of his dragon's wings, M'tri advises, "You just...chew..." The second and third 'stones have disappeared in his mouth and chewed with reined haste, so, eventually, Daikoth's patience - or lack thereof - is rewarded. The blue looks uncomfortable for a moment, then the muscles of his abdomen clench and unclench. With a rather unattractive sound, the blue spurts something that may be a flame but isn't quite large enough for the classification, and then closes his mouth again. Now he looks not only impatient, but disappointed.

Avrieth sends a rumble of reply to Dianneth, distracting Claret's carefully focused attention on thoughts of a second stomach. Grimacing up at the green, Claret's cheeks turn very lightly, almost unnoticeably pink as she reaches to grab another piece of firestone. "Second stomach," she repeats as she hands it up. Avrieth chews away contentedly, shifting her head to watch the Weyrleader's departure and inspect the progress of the other dragons. "No no no!" is Claret's quick protest. Reaching up her hands as if to bring Avrieth's head back, Claret repeats, "No! You've got to keep your head -still-."

Leonneth gets up quickly and keeps her head in the direction her lifemate told her too. Stomach rumbles, bring flames. Must remember. A'tan chuckles softly at Leonneth. "Its alright. Let's try again. Concentrate on the heat and bring it up to make a flame." He rests his hand on her neck as he waits for her to process the information. "You can do it Neth. Just a little flame." She puffs a little bit as a small stream of smoke comes from her nostrils. That is where the flame is /supposed/ to come out. She blows again and a small trickle of flame comes forward. A'tan smiles, "See you can do it. Just a little at a time."

"Second stomach, right," Breena's still reminding Sonaith, and though *she* might be distracted briefly with the arrival of the Weyrleader--a quick salute's offered his way--the green is not, after much reminding. Eventually, the firestone does the trick, and the dainty green opens her mouth to push out a small but bright burst of flame, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Oh! Did you see? Yes, that's good, like that."

I'sai resumes the walking - well out of dragonets' range - and explains as he does so, "In future drills, your dragons will learn how to keep their flame consistent - " Taralyth displays a regular, controlled stream of flame - "How to hit what they aim at - " the bronze torches not his rider but a nearby rock - "and all that good sort of thing. You'll learn how to not waste flame, but to use the amount you need to do the job; how to get wide enough so you get all you need to, but narrow enough to get the power; and, most of all, how to target. But for now, they'll have a few more good spurts in 'em, and then it'll be time to trot over to the ashpits," downwind from the barracks, "to have 'em vomit it back up. If they do it here, you'll have to clean it up here; after they get rid of the ash, and you take care of what needs to be taken care of, you may consider yourself dismissed. Next flaming drill will be tomorrow, mid-morning. Any questions?"

Lysseth trumpets at these first flickers of flame, a delighted sound that evidently startles her rider since she jerks and rubs at her ears--but Kassima's pleased too. "Oh, good! Sonaith and Leonneth both got flame; did you see--" She's reasonably quiet in these observations, quieter still as I'sai speaks; still, she murmurs to her lifemate, "Maidil's still on the injured list. Wonder if'n we could recruit her t'watch that drill."

A'tan stands and salutes I'sai and the others once more as he turns back to Leonneth once again. "Try one more time Neth." He waits patiently as she blows once again with another small flame followed by a belch. He stands then and rubs his hands on his pants, "Oh it feels funny in your stomach? Let's hurry down there." He starts to lead the way to the pits to instruct her on how to get rid of the burning stuff in her stomach. "Yes, I know it does burn some. That's where the flame comes from." He smiles affectionately at her, "You did very well. Really you did."

Tisiath doesn't seem to mind where his lifemate is slinking back to. He's far more focused on him, and well, him. Not that Lani isn't watching close, she is. And from a vantage a bit closer then under a wing, but hey. She wants to see without singeing. It's then that the blue rumbles and lets loose not a gout, but more like a flicker of flame. For the moment he's quite pleased with that as well, as it Lani and then she giggles, "It will get bigger silly, as you work on it. No, no. Keep looking that way."

Dianneth seems distracted for a moment, mirrored by her rider's look of shock. A moment later, and she's staring at the class again, and Dianneth is offering her own stream of flame for the weyrling inspection. Yselle manages a smile and a "And that's how it's done."

Claret watches Avrieth with some trepidation after she's chewed up her third firestone. Wrinkling her nose Claret glances to see if any of the other young dragons have managed to spout flame yet, but quickly turns to her attention back to Avrieth lest the green get any ideas about following her example. "Second stomach," she murmurs again, though Avrieth has already finished chewing. Moments later a sound much like a hiccup erupts from Avrieth, followed by a snort, and a little rumble as a bit of smoke issues forth.

A'tan heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
A'tan has left.

Leonneth lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Leonneth has left.

Sonaith's next few attempts are as fleeting as the first, but they're still flame, which leaves the young woman bursting with pride as she watches. "That," she says, "was brilliant. Come on now, like the Weyrlingmaster said, back this way." She salutes the riders, then heads off toward the ash pits, for the less pleasant portion of tonight's agenda.

Sonaith lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Sonaith has left.

Breena heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Breena has left.

Daikoth opens his mouth again, just as M'tri relinquishes his position from beneath the wing. Another flame, this one far superior to his previous in that it actually goes /past/ his muzzle. Yay for Daikoth! Rumbling gleefully, Daikoth only halts to look at his clutchmates and then follow them to those pits. His would likely be /very/ unhappy to have to clean up after him. And so, after a moment of saluting, M'tri falls out and stalks after his dragon, warning, "You'd better not drop that stuff before you make it to the pit."

J'len's smile grows as Cantaneth's next few belches of flame are more substantial then the first, and the last one before the bronze feels empty of gases manages to be a single, solid jet as well. Knowing what's about to come next, he salutes before leading Cantaneth towards the ash pits, congratulating his lifemate for getting flame his first try without leaving bite-marks in his tongue.

Cantaneth lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Cantaneth has left.

J'len heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
J'len has left.

M'tri heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
M'tri has left.

Daikoth lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Daikoth has left.

Kassima salutes the departing Weyrlings as they go, eyes bright--bright with suppressed laughter in more than one instance. "Ah," she sighs in mock-reminiscence, "that delightful first opportunity t'experience your lifemate's ash-vomiting. I recall it well. Good show, Weyrlings, all of you, if'n I may say so."

"Good job, wingleader," I'sai mentions as he walks by. "You too, Tisiath, and listen to her." He gives Kassima a quick look, a hint of a smile, and in the end crosses towards Yselle to speak to her quietly.

Yselle's cheeks are a little pink as she pauses to listen to the Weyrlingmaster, and reply to him, looking uncomfortable.

Claret steps back unconsciously as a tiny little snort of flame follows the smoke, along with a repetition of that hiccuping noise. Moving close enough to lay a tentative hand on Avrieth's hide, Claret assures, "That was brilliant Avri. Really lovely and--oh!" she breaks off as Avrieth's body shudders again as she expels more smoke, mostly without the accompaniment of flame. "We'll practice more." Looking up, Claret replies, "Thank you ma..." Breaking off her address to Kassima she turns instead to I'sai, and repeats, "Thank you, sir."

Kassima looks back with a faint smile to mirror his, nodding her respect to him, and then she has her hands in her pockets and is meandering--carefully--closer to where Claret and Avrieth are, to watch the young green at work. "She does well," she echoes, with a fleeting smile for her mentee. "Let me know--won't you?--if'n there's aught new you need, now, from Stores or the like." The smile broadens to a full-out grin at the truncated address. No comment beyond, "Welcome, naturally."

I'sai frowns all at once; again Taralyth-spurred, he looks over, nods to Claret even, going for a reassuring look before returning to discuss further.

Lanisa gives a bright smile for that, and then the glance that follows after her father has that 'I so don't want to know' look before she turns back to Tisiath, saying, "Yes of course he did." She sends a glance Kassi's way and then grins at Claret as she waits to see if her blue is done and ready for the ash pit.

Claret bobs her head as Kassima moves nearer, trying, and not quite successfully, to keep at least one eye on Avrieth to make sure no more unexpected belches of flame and smoke occur. And as it happens, after a few more bizarre noises and a rumble, a bit more smoke spills out, and Avrieth fidgets uncomfortably. Waiting, still, for signs that Avrieth's done, Claret replies, "I don't think I need any just now, but if I do, I'll be sure to let you know. Thanks awfully," she finishes before turning to echo Lani's grin.

Kassima glances to Lanisa, too--perhaps Lyss caught that look, or perhaps Kassi has eyes on the sides of her head after all--and offers her a smile too. "How does he feel?" she wonders. "Enjoying it? --All right, Claret, just wanted t'be sure. But you can feel free t'whap me if'n I'm being a pest t'you. I give you special leave: thwack me right on the arm. Just nay hard enough t'break bones, because I'd never live *that* down with m'Wingmates."

Good thing Lanisa doesn't want to know, or at least is acting as if she doesn't, for I'sai's tone sharpens for a moment before he moderates it; after a while he pauses, eyes Yselle somewhat warily, then cautiously reaches out to pat her shoulder.

Yselle glances, too, at the weyrlings, but the earnest conversation with I'sai continues, too low for it to carry far.

Claret's eyes widen slightly at Kassima's suggestion. "Pest? Thwap you?" she repeats. "I don't think I should like to do that at all, even with permission. Well..." Reconsidering for a moment she seems to come to the same conclusion. "No, I definitely wouldn't. I wish I could seem to think of things I need, but the trouble is, I can't remember until it comes time to patch patches or something simply doesn't fit right. I don't think it's at all being pesty." As Avrieth gives a low croon, Claret's attention shifts rapidly toward her. "Done, you think? Well, I guess we ought to head to the ashpit, then."

"All right," says Kassima, nodding and appearing to take this quite seriously. Apart from the glinting eyes, at least. "I appreciate that vastly, that you wouldn't. Doesn't have t'be aught material; if'n you find yourself in need of an ear or Avrieth in need of a hunting partner, we're here for that too. Though, truth be told, she might do well t'get a neater partner than Madame-Plays-With-Food." Lysseth simply harumphs. "G'luck with the ash, Avrieth! And sweet and vomit-free dreams t'you both, if'n you seek 'em after."

Lanisa considers Tisiath, and ignores 'the other' conversation completely, "I think he's done." She tells Kassi, Just waiting for... Ahh that. Excuse us?" She gives a quick grin and then they head off to the ash pits as well. Course, unlike some of the others, they find their way back after the blue is done. Even though it takes a bit, but now Tisiath is heading on for the water. He needs a swim after flaming it seems.

Claret nods, but doesn't add much further reply as Avrieth makes another disgruntled noise. Saluting first, she then turns to hurry off toward the ashpit, Avrieth following her with alacrity.

avrieth @ 2004-09-23T22:33:00

2006-08-14T02:33:47Z

avrieth @ 2004-09-20T22:32:00

2006-08-14T02:33:12Z

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass and trees around the lake resound with the bright green of summer. The lake, and the meadow around it teem with life and activity. Warmth -- the gift of summertime -- seems to lift the spirits of everything around here. Firelizards zip about the lake, taking full advantage of the season. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Tisiath Daikoth Lysseth
PLAYERS: Kassima Lanisa Claret M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

"No twins in my family, that I know of." He laughs, saying, "Yeah, something else, but what is still a bit of a mystery. And Kassi, you misunderstood, dearest. I said just like you because he's cute, but he's also smart. You must listen more closely to my silver tongue." He winks as he rises from where he sat down, stretching and looking over at Daikoth before wandering closer to him.

"Don't tell Tear. He'll be crushed..." Lani says at first, "Or maybe he wont." So decisive tonight, "Thanks Kassi. And I'll speak to him about a K for one of the four. Even if they are born apart." She gives M'tri a wink for that. "One set in my family that I know of.. But that's maybe not our line after all. We might be safe yet, Trii."

"'Twill simply have t'prove m'intelligence t'you, then," Kassi informs M'tri. She's seated on a rock, as is usual for her, her attention divided between the two Weyrlings with whom she speaks and Daikoth--or, more accurately, the very small child riding Daikoth. "In some fiendish, evil, clever way that will make you regret *ever* having doubted it. I won't, Lani, though Lysseth would gladly console him. If'n there were any being consoled from such a crushing blow. Oh, *will* you? That's marvelous," and she beams. "Kalatrine shall be such a beautiful child!"

Daikoth's path is blocked -- by his rider. Well, that's disappointing. The blue fake-flames one last time, searing his not-so-invisible rider in the process before Trii says, "Well, that's enough. You're always my favorite dragon and you don't even have to pretend to flame thread." Daikoth doesn't budge. He pretends to flame again. Stubborn clump of Thread, his rider. Maybe more taxing efforts need to be involved. Just as he opens his mouth again, M'tri says, "You've got to save some energy for when Lani and I have kids." Daikoth looks skeptical. "Yeah, well...hey, guess what? Fall's over!" Looking disappointed at this revelation, Daikoth lowers himself slowly, far enough that Kaisan can slide off without spraining or breaking anything. Hopefully. "We're not naming anyone Kalatrine!"

Claret walks toward the lake shore alongside Avrieth, her path taking periodic swerves into near collisions with the dragonet as she looks everywhere but where she's going, which gives her ample time to note the forms of the dragons and their riders. Raising her hand first in a salute, she greets, "Wingleader," before giving everyone a cheery smile. "Evening. Kalatrine?" she echoes, faintly puzzled.

Kaisan looks down as M'tri approaches, and removes one hand from Daikoth's neckridge to wave--which causes him to start to list to the side. Smart child indeed: he's quick to grab that neckridge again and so avoids splattering on the ground. "Didja see us? We fought Thread--we *won*!" he tells M'tri, grinning from ear to ear. "He's the best blue ever." A short pause, then: "What's his name? Oh, Fall's over... know what *that* means." And apparently he does, because he sighs, but obediantly gets off... if not before leaning forward to try and 'hug' Daikoth's neck. "You fought real good, blue. We'll fight again. Thread will be *afraid*." This promise delivered, he slides down to the ground with care, and doesn't meet with injury--though his rear end does meet with the ground, as he slips. He looks very surprised by this.

"I don't doubt he would console him." Lani agrees with a grin and then giggles "Doesn't have to be Kalatrine, Trii. Just have a K..." She'll work on it, even in jest, "But good to have Daikoth ready for our brood." She grins at Claret as she explains, "M'tri's and my first born." And what if it's a boy? Yes, pray she's teasing.

M'tri,making sure Kaisan, after such a close call, helps Kaisan down, agreeing, "Yeah, I saw you both. He is a very good blue, isn't he? His name's Daikoth, and if you ever need someone to help you fight thread and Lysseth is busy preening, you just come find me and Daikoth'll help you out, if he's not busy. Promise." M'tri gives a smile and a wave to Claret. Daikoth, raising his head, rubs against Kaisan in passing and then the pair are leaving, with M'tri assuring, "Sure, I'll let you play with him again."

Kassima takes her eyes off her son and his sort-of-dragon long enough to flash a grin of welcome to Claret and Avrieth, and call, "Evening! Y'know, I'm pretty sure you can call me by name--" That doesn't stop her from returning the salute. "'Tis what Lanisa and M'tri should name their first daughter, don't you think? Far prettier than just 'Latrine.'" To Lani, she suggests, "Ketrani, mayhaps? It does have fewer, well, dubious connotations."

Kaisan nods vigorously to M'tri, repeating, "Daikoth. Thankee, Daikoth! And guy!" There's a passing pat for the passing Daikoth, and then the very happy child pelts for the rock where his mother sits, scrambling up to her lap without so much as a by-your-leave and announcing, "I'm a real rider now!"

Claret's brows knit as she considers Lani's words for a moment. "Your firstborn? But you're not having a baby, are you? That'd be -awful-. I mean, awful right now, not awful in general." Wrinkling her nose, she remarks, "But that seems very unlikely. I don't think Latrine is a very good name at all. Can I call you by your name? Because it wouldn't do if I did, and then I got heard and had to run laps forever. Most fatiguing."

"Ketrani.. That does have promise and doesn't rhyme..." Lani gives another grin, glancing after the departing M'tri. But Claret's words draw her back with a laugh, "As if we could be expecting now and the whole weyr not know it. We might bunk next to each other, but that's a mite different than -with- each other."

"I think so. Since you're m'mentee. I asked one of the Assistants, and they said 'twas all right," Kassi explains. "'Twill do a favor and nay tell the Weyrlingmaster team what you said about the laps being exhausting--they'd probably see that as a sign you need t'run *more*. How have the exercises been going; still doing the laps and calisthenics mostly? Have you started tossing firestone yet?" She hugs her son as she speaks, listening with half an ear to his ongoing, happy rambling about how amazing he and Daikoth were against the Thread, and how he's going to be Daikoth's rider for *real* when he's old enough, wait and see. "The dragons would let everyone know even if'n you *didn't* wake everyone up," is the greenrider's dry agreement with Lanisa. "I like Ketrani too. Nay that I'm biased or the like."

Claret waves her hand dismissively in Lani's direction. "Somehow or other I always manage to be one of the whole weyr that doesn't know, so I don't suppose I can set much store by that," she comments ruefully. "But you're right! I suppose Avrieth would tell me. She tells me enough other things." Shifting, Claret lays a hand against the green and leans into her for a moment. "The laps aren't so bad, by themselves. It's just when you have to do a whole lot -more- that it's kind of tiring, you know? But thanks ever so for not telling. Exercises are fine; I've mostly been doing calisthenics still. Mostly."

Lanisa merely rolls her eyes. "You could hardly miss it in the barracks if we were... As Kassi says." Then with a grins, "So formally, for the record: We are not." The rest she just listens to as Tisiath comes back ashore and heads up the beach towards them.

"Does she." Kassi's eyes travel towards Avrieth, regarding the green with new interest. "What sorts of things? And what else beyond calisthenics, then? I do understand what you mean. Between us, as many Turns as I've been riding, I'm still fair exhausted by the end of morning exercises and drills; the usual soak in the Springs afterward comes as something *most* welcome." She slants Lanisa a grin. "Could've guessed that," she teases, "by how you're both still *alive*. Looks like someone's done with his swimming."

"Oh, all sorts of things," Claret replies readily. "She just sits there and watches everything. When she's not sleeping or eating, or when we're not in drills of course. So anything she sees, or anything a dragon tells her that she finds interesting, which is just about anything, she'll tell me. For an hour sometimes!" Throwing Avrieth an exasperated, if fond glance, she tilts her head to the side. "Well, a bit of tossing sacks and so forth, like you said. The usual, I expect. Seems like I should get used to it, but I'm not quite." Her mouth quirking, she adds to Lanisa, "That's true. And I guess we'd all have been read some lecture and heard about ghastly punishments you two were undergoing, too."

Tisiath shakes off the excess water before getting close enough to spray them and Lani grins, "He'll want his oiling next... And aye. Da would have skinned us both. Daughter or no, I'd be up there as an example for the rest of you."

Kassima's eyes take on a considering light, as she rocks Kaisan slightly in an attempt to get him closer to sleep. Not bloodly likely. The boy's still bouncing about in her lap, murmuring to himself about all the Thread-killing he and Daikoth will do. "Aught interesting enough t'be worth sharing?" she just has to ask. "I imagine she could see plenty, if'n she keeps her eyes so open. Truth, 'tis usual, and you'll have plenty of time t'get used to it--don't worry on that score. You'll have t'throw 'em from on your dragons, and throw 'em from on your dragons in the *air*, and by the time all that's done, it at least shouldn't feel very extraordinary." Her tone turns droll as she quips, "Mayhaps the moreso for being his daughter. Or mayhaps nay. Probably he wouldn't let it matter. Thank Tisiath for his consideration just now for me, would you?"

Claret closes her eyes for a moment, trying to cull over all the little snippets of information that may or may not be stuck in her memory. "Um... Probably," she concludes, her eyes snapping open. "I'm not so entirely sure I can remember anything of particular interest, and Avri can't, of course. Mostly she watches the weyrlings, after all, so I hear about this or that complaint, or someone getting in trouble, or who's itching or..." Trailing off she shrugs, remarking only, "I expect, if I paid more attention, she'd be a veritable trove of secrets and such. Later, anyway." Shifting her attention to Lani, she comments, "It would be dreadful if you got skinned up. I imagine you'd get in the worst kind of trouble ever."

"The more so for his daughter I suspect is something I alone would see." Lani admits that much. "In that it would be just like for anyone else, I suspect." But she gives a wry grin, "Aye. Likely the worst I'd faced at least." Then a pause, "Tisiath says your welcome, and he's lost his shine. So if you'll all excuse me? I've a dragon to polish." She smiles from one to the other and then adds a salute for Kassi, a wink for her youngest brother and a wave for Claret before she'd gone.

"Who gets in trouble," says Kassima, "is of some interest t'me. All Weyrlings are to a degree, you understand; 'twill have t'be choosing future Wingmates from the group in time. Well, little matter. But those secrets later--those could be interesting. For you." She lifts a hand to wave after Lanisa, as does Kaisan, the boy using his other hand to cover a wide yawn.

Claret waves after Lani before turning a speculative gaze to Avrieth. "I suppose you're wanting your bath too. But only a quick one," she warns, stepping away from Avrieth to allow her to lumber toward the water, which she promptly does, though the fact that she's being talked about draws her attention back every minute or so. "Maybe," she replies dubitably. "Only, I don't like to keep secrets so very much. I -can-," she emphasizes in a tone that suggests that ability is often enough questioned, "But it's ever so much trouble. Unless they're dreadful secrets, and then that's all right. Those are some of the most interesting, I think."

Kassima observes, while observing Avrieth, "Soon enough she'll--and you'll--be able t'bathe in the hot waters, at least. That'll be something. D'you often have secrets told, that you find hard t'keep?" she wonders, looking back towards the human half of the greenpair. "And you find dreadful secrets *easier* t'keep? Really?"

Claret watches as Avrieth wades deeper, immersing herself liberally in the water. Attention drawn away quickly enough by the questions, she nods her head enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. Much easier, because if they're dreadful, then it's very easy to see why people want them to be kept secrets, and so it's easier to remember not to tell. I don't hear many secrets at all, though," she admits with a sigh. "I think because people think I'll tell, because I talk so much. That's exactly what M'tri always says, anyway, but I don't quite agree."

Kassima nods her understanding. "Makes sense. With some things, 'tis hard t'know if'n someone wants it kept secret at *all*. For what 'tis worth, I don't know how many people do have scores of dreadful secrets--I doubt I do; I might come up with a few if'n I really scratched. People seem t'like keeping those to themselves. For some strange reason." She chuckles under her breath. "It might be so. M'tri would probably know; he talks nay little amount himself, you might've noticed."

"Well, they don't have to be -too- dreadful," Claret clarifies with a sagacious nod. "Just something unpleasant, or maybe not even so bad, but extra important or unfortunate. I don't like it much when secrets are told to other people, but not me, and I'm there when they're told, though. That's the worst, because then I get awfully curious." Regarding the water with a wrinkled nose, she supplies, "I did kind of notice that. But I figure, lots of people are like that, aren't they?"

"'Twould be hard nay t'*wonder*, in such a situation," Kassima agrees. "What's been told? Why that whispering? Does it involve you; is that why they won't say...? So many questions. I like knowing things, too. There are some secrets you can't know, and shouldn't tell; but t'know what's going on has a lot of appeal." There's a soft dragon-laugh from the darkness. Oh, no, this opinion of her rider's doesn't surprise Lysseth at all. "Talkative? True enough. Some more than others; but few about a Weyr, it seems, are all that silent."

Claret nods in agreement. "Knowing things is terribly interesting, and I like to find out all I can. It's keeping from telling it that's rotten. Not that I ever do on purpose, of course. That'd be silly." Pausing as Avrieth's whuffling and snorts in the water distract her, she remarks, "Well, seems like M'tri always has been kind of funny about things. When he first came here, he was so very odd sometimes, and I do think he liked to choke. That's ever so much more noticeable than someone being quiet."

Kassima shifts Kaisan in her lap. The child has finally, it seemed, nodded off--into a drowse if not true sleep--and his dark-haired head slumps against his mother. "What can be fun is telling secrets that aren't true, if'n you think 'twill nay really make the person angry," she confides. "Or that the anger's part of the game--if'n 'tis the sort of friend you often tease, who teases you. I've done that a'fore. Telling people that M'rgan and A'lex are having a wild affair, that sort of thing. Terrible, desperate secret--except a'course that 'tis complete lies, as anyone who knows 'em would probably know. I don't know that I *recommend* doing that, but it can surely cause some interesting expressions." Go figure. "Liked to choke?" she wonders. "That's a rather odd pastime."

Claret tilts her chin consideringly. "Sometimes, I think, people get mad when someone's not telling the truth, even if it's nothing to do with them, and I think that's too bad. I don't think I can make up stories so well, but I do so like to listen to them, especially if they don't really sound true at all." Dipping her head in a nod, she agrees, "Isn't it odd? Though," she admits, in all fairness, "He never said he liked choking, he just did an awful lot, and insisted there was nothing wrong with it."

"That," Kassima admits, "is also true enough. Ah, well. At least you're well-set if'n you like the sorts of stories with nay truth--Pierron and Roberta between 'em can come up with *plenty* of those, I'm sure, along with all the bits that have grains of actual fact. What sort of things did you say that he choked after?"

Claret heads towards the edge of the water as Avrieth makes her way out again. "Maybe not gossipy stories so much as stories with people that I don't know, I like," she says, stepping a few paces back from Avrieth as she emerges, shedding water droplets. "Do you know, that's an awfully good question, and I did so wonder. He'd choke after just about anything, it seemed like. I couldn't quite figure it out."

"If'n that's so, then sometime when you've leisure, 'tis possible I might know stories to interest you," Kassima offers, "about people I don't think you've met. I don't know, though; so many of m'stories are widespread knowledge by now, they might quite bore you. But the offer's out there. He doesn't seem t'choke much *now*, does he? Wonder if'n 'tis a change from Impression. Something Daikoth's done t'him. --Bath over, I'm guessing? You did command a short one."

Avrieth pauses as she passes Claret, giving a low croon before commencing progress back toward a place to get rest and oil. Nodding, Claret adds, "And one where I didn't have to get wet, either. So yes, it's over." Wrinkling her nose uncertainly, she wavers for a moment. "Well... I dunno. I think he stopped being like that mostly during candidacy, but maybe I just didn't notice. Maybe he's just too busy to choke now. Ooh, coming!" Claret breaks off, hurrying her step after Avrieth, though her head is turned over her shoulder. "Good night! And I should very much like to hear stories, if you don't mind telling them." She sketches a salute, uncertainly as she recalls it may not be necessary, and then turns to watch where she's going, headed off toward the bowl.

avrieth @ 2004-09-16T22:32:00

2006-08-14T02:32:30Z

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Dark summer blooms of vivid hue decorate the tables.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Pierron Lanisa Claret M'tri
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

Lanisa grins in return, "At least you don't have to worry about him lacking confidence then, eh?" She too has a bit more diner and then chuckles, "Somehow I suspect Lysseth would find that amusing. Does she know?"

Amarie walks in from the bowl.
Amarie has arrived.

J'len walks in from the bowl.
J'len has arrived.

M'tri opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and glances over his shoulder. "Mhm. She knows. She does find it amusing, Diakoth doesn't like her laughing at him either. Shards..." The fork drops to his plate, which is, granted, nearly cleaned off and he rises to take his plate away. "Daikoth is promising not to flap this time," M'tri says with a grimace. "We have to try this flying thing again...and Daikoth says he won't flap." He tosses his plate before shuffling out quickly.

M'tri walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
M'tri has left.

Claret brushes near M'tri as he leaves, and wrinkling her nose she offers him a wave of greeting and goodbye. Attention quick to focus on the task at hand, though, she heads in a relatively straight line for the buffet table, filling a plate with food before spotting Lani and heading toward her with another wave.

Lanisa is left giggling at M'tri's departure, eyes bright with amusement as she waves back to Claret and keeps on with her meal. "I guess he was right to eat so fast." Course, that might be self musing, rather than a greeting, but hey.

Claret sets her plate down on the table, folding herself into a seat right near Lanisa before asking, "Mind if I join you? Oh, and hullo. Who was right to eat so fast? Oh, M'tri?" Answering her own steady stream of questions, she picks up her fork to start in on her own meal.

Amarie moves out of M'tri's way as he goes straight past her out to the bowl. She calls a greeting to him and then turns around to walk into the cavern. Her hand picks up in an automatic wave as she does so to catch the attention of her weyrling friends.

Kassima walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Kassima has arrived.

Pierron humphs thoughtfully as the Wingleader of Thunderbolt arrives.

J'len must be in a similar hurry as M'tri, as he's jogging into the cavern as the bluerider weyrling is running out. He moves quickly to the food with a grin and a wave for Claret and Lanisa. Ignoring the plates, he scoops up one of the empty serving platters and loads it with meat, potatoes, and fruit (heavy on the fruit). When he turns around and spots Amarie, he freezes briefly, then grins impishly as he brings his food over to the weyrling's table.

"M'tri." Lani agrees with a grin and then waves to the seat as part of her reply to Claret, "Course I don't mind. How're you this eve?" A wave gets sent Amarie's and then J'len's way too, along with a mild look of relief as she digs back into her meal. "A little hungry, eh J'len?"

Kassima, fingers laced together and palms facing outward, is stretching her arms and hands up towards the sky as she enters, spine describing a slight arc before she relaxes and lets her arms drop. "Evening, Pierron," she greets the cook sunnily. "--Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm allowed t'be cheerful even t'you on a night when I've beat Kris at chess. Dare I hope that you've a good array of food t'perfect it, please, oh please, oh please?" She doesn't wait for an answer, though--she's already heading towards the food tables as she talks, with the purpose of a hunter whose prey is not only in sight but is sporting a distinct limp.

Claret is too busy eating, for the moment, to take much notice of Amarie and J'len's presence, instead bobbing her head in time with Lanisa's words and replying, "Oh, I'm good. Mostly. As good as--oh!" she repeats, breaking off as she notices J'len and Amarie. Sending a wave toward them, and then correcting that wave with a salute for Amarie, she adds another one when she spots Kassima, half-rising from her seat.

Amarie pauses to say "Good evening Pierron. Kassima," She nods at the Wingleader. She smiles at J'len, Lanisa and Claret, tossing Claret an inquisitive look about the salute. She shakes her head as if it's not necessary and moves over to sit at an adjacent table nearby, respecting the table's status as weyrlings only. "Good evening Lanisa, J'len, Claret." She smiles at each of them in turn. "How are you doing tonight?"

Looking over, Kassi closes her eyes briefly at the half-rising, but doesn't comment directly; instead she says wryly, "At ease, mentee. G'deve t'you, too. And you, Amarie; Lanisa, J'len. I know the rules prevent me from getting you aught while I'm at the table, but can any of you recommend aught t'me? Battling m'son in games mental has left me with an appetite. Claret, how fares Avrieth?"

J'len grins to Lanisa with a nod, "Famished. You know there never seems to be enough hot food when I get to what they bring for breakfast." He balances the platter on one hand long enough to salute Kassima on her way past, then just because he's in an impish mood tonight, salutes Amarie as well. "Telgar's duties to the Masterbeast Hall." His grin is broad and mischevous as he sits down in the chair closest to the table she sat at, then nods to Kassima, "The citons seem ripe, and the roast smells delicious from here."

Ahh well, so much for that. Lani's on her feet and saluting before she can say more to Claret. Her's only goes to Kassima, but for Amarie she says a nice, polite, "Good evening, ma'am." Before retaking her seat, "Me? I'm good. How've you been?" For Kassi then a grin, "It all tastes good to me, Wingleader. Or at least what I've had of it." She giggles at the last, to J'len's reply, "I should just not ask such an obvious question, I suppose, eh?"

Claret sighs as her attempts at proper greeting are both eyed askance. Brightening quickly, though, she scoots herself haphazardly back into her seat and informs Amarie, "Well, you know, Am, we are -supposed- to salute you, and what with there being all these people to watch in here..." She trails off suggestively, gesturing expansively to the whole of the living cavern. Smiling enthusiastically to Kassi, Claret offers an, "Evening! Avrieth is doing pretty well. She hasn't gotten herself hurt again since the other sevenday, so that's good. Of course."

Amarie mouths the word, 'ma'am?' giving a helpless look at Kassima. She's the ma'am, not Amarie. "Well yes I suppose if you must, then you must Claret, but please Lanisa," Amarie shakes her head, "Amarie is just fine. No ma'am. I'm not very old and do not have the wrinkles and lines on my face yet that the word Ma'am brings to mind." She smiles at J'len and eyes his plate, "So that's what's been making you grow," she says teasingly. "I'd say you had Cantaneth's stomach instead of your own."

Kassima decides, surveying the offerings, "Meat sounds good. And bread. And the soup smells excellent--" Little wonder that the plates she eventually brings to a table--but not Thunderbolt's tonight; one nearer the others, the better to converse and/or eavesdrop--are laden with goodies, and the glass of wine that's with it, large. "I can afford this. I missed lunch. And hard work builds up hunger, which probably doesn't hurt the taste," with a grin to Lanisa. Sitting, she tells Claret, "Glad t'hear it. I'm guessing you're nay longer grounded, then; how's she taking t'flight? And don't let me forget, I found some things for you and V'lano in stores, if'n they fit. Spare clothes that actually aren't the most tacky thing this side of V'dan's checks and stripes." Amarie? She gets a grin that starts out wicked: revenge is sweet! But it softens fast enough into sympathy, until--"A*hem*. Are you saying you associate wrinkles and lines with those you *have* ma'amed compulsively, Amar
ie?"

J'len shudders slightly at Amarie's comment, "You're not far from the mark, Amarie. I desperately need to get the taste of fresh entrails out of my mind and mouth." No need to elaborate on that, he hopes. He pauses long enough to take a long, deep, juice-filled bite of citron, savoring the taste of something that didn't move under its own power just yesterday. Kassima's getting Amarie on the spot brings a fresh grin to his face before he smiles to Claret, "Avrieth got back in the sky again? That'd be good for her," and he smirks slightly. "And for those of us whose dragons relayed a blow-by-blow of her less vocal complaints about being grounded.”

"As you say, assistant headwoman." Getting the feeling Lani's actually having a little fun with the do's and don't's? "And I'd hope you'd not be considering yourself very, old. Or where would that leave the likes of me?" She casts a wink at Amarie then before chuckling at J'len "Ya had to remind me of that eh? Sometimes I almost wish we could forget a few things the way they do."

"I must!" Claret echoes between mouthfuls. Turning her head toward Kassima she asks eagerly, "Oh, really? That's ever so lovely. I shall try to remember, because I just bet we'd really like to have something to wear that's not horrible. That is, I know I would and I expect V'lano would quite agree, and--Well, anyway, I'll try not to forget, too. That's awfully nice of you." Pausing for breath, her attention is quickly diverted to J'len as she asks for that elaboration. "Fresh entrails? In your mouth?" Pulling a wry grimace she admits, "She was rather a pain, wasn't she? And she kept insisting that she was perfectly fine, even though I think she knew she wasn't."

Amarie glances at J'len and says, "You haven't been through a culling season at Beastcraft then. It's nothing but bloody entrails all over the place in autumn." She tosses a grin Kassima's way and says, "Why no Kassima, I don't because forced ma'am's are not the type that belong to the little old wrinkly aunties and if you'll remember, the candidate ma'am is surely a forced ma'am...ma'am," She finishes her sentence with that 'ma'am' her eyes all a'twinkle with laughter in them. "What?" She overhears part of the comment. "You're flying?" She looks between the three weyrlings. "You're flying?" she points at J'len questioningly, "You're actually flying?" Way to repeat the question over and over as if to get a threefold confirmation.

Kassima assures the group quite drolly, "You are all exceedingly young, and will be so forever. Because *I* am young forever, y'see--or so I like t'think--and so anyone who's younger than me can never, ever be old... unless their name is M'rgan. Exceptions can be made, for Mart. Is that what you've been practicing sensing, J'len, the taste of entrails?" The noodles on her plate get an eyeing, and a disconsolate poke from her fork. "Ah! Well, neither Candidates nor Weyrlings nor surely Assistant Headwomen are truly forced t'use *that* word, so if'n you continue t'do so 'twill have t'be presuming you're saying something about m'looks. And then I'd be very sad. I'd sniffle. You don't want that, d'you? --Are you low on things t'wear?" she asks Claret with concern, shifting focus to her mentee. "I can be looking for more if'n you are. Wasn't sure what straits the muscle-growth would leave you in."

J'len eyes the roast he pilled on his plate with a little doubt, then moves to his other food to give him time to regain his taste for flesh. "I've never been around a culling, but do you devour those entrails then discuss with your friends and family about whether hip bones taste better than brains?" And yes, he does continue to eat during this topic. "Whenever Cantaneth eats, especially now that he's up to a whole wherry at a meal, seem to be when our connection is the strongest. I think he's borrowing my sense of taste those times." Amarie's question gets a grin, "Our dragons are flying. We're not allowed up yet, not until they get practice on their own and we have straps ready."

Claret looks increasingly puzzled as J'len continues. "You mean, you've been eating entrails? Or is that just Cantaneth? I hope you haven't, that doesn't sound particularly appetizing, and I'm sure you'd smell." Turning her chin in a quick negatory shake, she informs Kassima, "No. I mean, not much more than ever. It's just that things do seem to wear more quickly, and feel a bit different, I guess with growing." Shrugging, she concludes, "So anything more is quite handy."

Amarie looks slightly disappointed that the news is the dragons only flying and not the humans themselves yet. "Oh," She smiles a bit. "Then you're getting that much closer to flying astride him." She wrinkles her nose at Claret and grins. "Not to mention the strange appetite one would possess to do such a thing."

"Hip bones better than *brains*? Lysseth should have a talk with that lad. A'course the brains are better," Kassi protests just before a mouthful of those noodles. "But neither one's a patch on a good, fresh heart. This being her wisdom, you understand--I do nay regularly devour hips and brains even when proddy. Mayhaps 'tis the sensuality of eating that causes it." Reassured, the greenrider nods to Claret. "The work can be horrid t'clothes, and the mess. 'Tis nay a problem. 'Twill bring what I've found by the Barracks some time, and you can be looking through it t'see if'n aught fits, and if'n there's nay enough then 'twill go in search of more."

J'len peers at Claret briefly, "Um, aye, Cantaneth is eating the entrails, not me. Don't you think you would've heard about /me/ eating herdbeast entrails?" He half-smirks, "I think Bertie would've had that around the rumor mill in less than three heartbeats, rather than her usual ten." He laughs at Kassima's addition to the comparitive epicurean delights of internal organs, then nods to Amarie. "Aye, we're that much closer."

"Ugh, I can't imagine feeling like I was eating raw meat," Amarie makes a face. "Although I do know a few people who enjoy a good steak the rarest they can possibly get it. I think there is even a dish I've heard somewhere that is just raw meat cut rather fine." Amarie turns her seat towards J'len and Claret's table. "So what was it like when they started flying? Did you feel that too?"

Claret stays her eating as consumption of various unsavory parts of animals are mentioned. Wrinkling her brow into a frown, she nods in fervently agreement with Amarie. "That would be a very strange appetite indeed." Tilting her head to the side, she remarks to J'len, "Well, you never know. You might have been trying to keep it secret or something, and I expect success is possible once in a while." Eyeing her food uncertainly for a moment, she resumes eating, though a bit less avidly. "Thanks awfully," she replies enthusiastically to Kassi. "That'll be -ever- so useful. And practical. And all of that."

Kassima feels obliged to defend, "Raw meat isn't *that* bad... wouldn't particularly want t'slurp down any entrails, mind. Certes nay with the enthusiasm Her Radiance does." A gulp of wine proves useful in washing away the thought. "Aught else I can do for you?" she wonders of Claret. "'Tis what I'm here for, at least partially. Answering questions, supervising practices, keeping a certain Assistant from telling everyone the rude things you did while she was trying t'change your diaper, all that sort of thing. Assuming it applies, though I don't think it does since if'n memory serves you aren't originally from here."

J'len is taken off the subject of internal organs by Amarie's question about Cantaneth's flying. For some reason there is an embarassed blush spreading across his face and neck. "Funny thing that. I don't remember what his first flight was like. I was ah... indisposed at the time." Yes, his meal is very interesting and worthy of inspection.

Claret peers at her food pensively for a minute, concluding, "Well, I suppose if one likes that sort of thing, it's not so very bad. But I don't think I find the idea appetizing." Pausing again to think, she shakes her head. "No, I don't particularly think there's anything else. I mean, I can't think of anything right now, which doesn't at all mean there's nothing, but... My diaper? I don't have a--Oh, I see. Do you really keep people from telling those stories?" she asks curiously, her attention drawn from J'len's blush, which she would normally find fascinating.

"I would if'n 'twere you or V'lano 'twere about, at least as best I could. I figure guarding your dignity from being under attack by anyone save me is part of the job," Kassima explains, tearing apart a roll. "In addition, if'n I can get 'em t'tell me the stories *secretly*, I can hoard them as potential future blackmail material. If'n the whole Weyr hears, the value's gone! But otherwise, if'n you think of aught, don't be hesitating t'say. There are things I can't do for you, but I'm happy t'help when I can." And yes, she does slant J'len a wryly amused look for his sudden fascination with his food.

"Indisposed?" Amarie looks as if she doesn't understand J'len's choice of words. "How were you indisposed? Did he fly without you?" She glances at Kassima and confirms, "I didn't think they could do anything without the weyrlingmaster's permission?" And back to J'len. "How were you indisposed?"

"I was hit with a sudden and unavoidable interest in the quality of sand that makes up the lake shore." J'len chuckles to himself, then takes a long drink of his blended cider. "When Cantaneth started to run and take off, I linked to him more tightly than we had before. When he took off... so did I."

"You tried to fly?" Amarie ventures a guess, her lips pressing together a moment later. A tiny snicker escapes from between her lips and her shoulders shake as she looks at him. "Did you get far off the ground?" She teases with a grin, her laughter finally bubbling over.

Kassima shakes her head slightly to Amarie. "'Tis unwise, but they can--ask A'tan, although I don't think 'twas an intentional thing that Leonneth flew a'fore she should have."

J'len shrugs, still keeping his eyes down although the corner of his mouth is twitching a bit. "My height or so above the ground. It was a very strong jump I was echoing. And on the earlier topic, sand does not, under anyone's form of determining such things, taste good." Then he can't hold it back any longer. He's laughing right along with Amarie.

Claret looks momentarily expressed, but the fleeting expression is replaced by mild suspicion. "My. That's awfully thoughtful of you. Only... Seems like it gives you more to work with than otherwise. 'Course, I suppose it's better if just you know horrible stories than everybody." Pausing, she amends, "I think." Head swiveling to J'len and Amarie, she watches them curiously, a smile catching.

"You ate dirt? A'tan's dragon flew first without permission?" Amarie's head swivels back and forth between J'len and Kassima as if not sure who to believe first. "Why am I missing all these interesting things happening?" To Claret she asks, "And did Avrieth fly too?"

"That's the idea," Kassima agrees. "T'get people t'bribe me *nay* t'let their secrets become public Weyr-knowledge. Nay, truth be told, that I actually practice blackmail of that sort. But knowing secrets can still be handy... if'n for nay other reason than t'make sure those whose secrets you hold don't get any ideas about spilling *yours*." She sounds very entertained in discussing such matters, though, and her face is a little too straight. "---Mmm-hmm, a'fore they'd finished the jumping exercises. I don't think she took harm from it, though."

Claret finishes up her meal tidily, and scooting herself back in her seat a bit, she remarks, "Well, it all sounds devious to me. But clever, because I expect it's always well not to have your secrets known." Sliding out of her seat, she sends a beaming smile to Amarie. "Yes, she did. But then she landed a bit hard and pulled a muscle. So she was grounded for a couple days. She's all better now, and flying again. And really, I think I'd better return to her, because she's getting anxious." Giving Kassima and Amarie a salute, and J'len a wave, she collects her plate and heads out.

Weyrling Class, Week -- Part 2

2006-08-14T02:26:22Z

"Good job," T'bay's assistant tells him. "Now, take it easy. Remember to breathe. You turn much whiter, and Faranth never meant you to be that color, you'll pass out and fall off and that won't be any help..." I'sai's throat-clearing, after he's reached to help R'len's boot down with less rolling of the eyes than one might have expected, and heard somehow even through all this, causes the assistant to continue more reassuringly. "You're doing fine. Take it easy. Remember to breathe." Even if it's repetitive. At the same time, J'len's assistant tells him, "That's better, lad. Tell him to lift on up once you're feeling situated. Up to his paws, that is. No wings!"

"Doesn't feel that great if'n you're a lass, either," Kassi mutters, lest any females get too hopeful. "Careful, careful... right," she says with relief as Claret rights herself. "That's just it. Excellent. *Very* good, V'lano, Volath! Looks as if'n you're ready for him t'stand, slowly. Uh-oh," is her response to R'len's plight, once Lysseth's farther-seeing eyes have made it known to her. "...Well. Don't do *that*."

Leonneth twists her head and bugles at her lifemate with much excitement. She has to show those bigger ones that she can do this too. As A'tan tries to settle himself in he slides a little bit to the side, but the green shuffles a little bit to try to help out and turns her head to try to see him. The young man chuckles, "I think it would work better if I try to keep my balance. We seem to work in opposite directions and I'll fall off again. We don't want that dear."

Dianneth, after some smug rumbling to remind the weyrlings just /where/ they're supposed to look, ever so slowly begins to straighten her legs until she's standing upright - and still Yselle does not fall. She moves with the muscles of her lifemate, as if they were one and the same. Meanwhile, with a laugh, the assistant near A'tan reaches over to Leonneth to offer a steadying hand. "Now dear," she says to the dragon. "Did you feel how much that hurt him? Be very very still. Feel him with you, adjust your weight so when he moves, you support him, and A'tan," with a blinking smile, "how does that feel? Wriggle about a bit, make sure you won't fall again. Dear me, I remember when we did this. Out in the snow, I remember dear F'liss, he broke his nose, and didn't he yelp when the healer set it again... not that that will happen to /you/ of course dear, did make a weird snoring nose after that though."

"Yes, ma'am." Lani manages, somehow containing an eye roll for once, that might normally go with the suggestion of her da taking it personally if she brakes a bone. Be it likely or not, the suggestion is enough she takes a slow breath and just stops herself from looking his way. "Okay Tisiath. You heard him, just careful like." Then murmured after, "I wont fall, but if you can keep from bouncing, that'd be nice, eh?" The blue rumbles, mostly to himself for once and then gets back to his feet. Bit by bit, and still none to graceful, while Lani concentrates on keeping her position the whole time. -- But so far, so good.

I'sai calls out, Taralyth enhancing the instruction dragon-to-dragons through the chaos, "When you're comfortable moving around - assuming you're even up at all - and you've gotten used to the idea and so has your dragon, encourage your dragon to take a few steps. Just a few steps. Slow and easy. No bounding." He eyes certain of the blues in particular. "If you look like you're about to run into something, lake and us included, _stop_. Don't turn. _Stop_."

"Lala look at you," the overcheery assistant turns back to Lanisa. "I remember when you were just a little thing, still in your mother's arms. We all said in those days that your father had a way about him, don't mind telling you I thought he was quite dishy, and now there you are, on top of your very own lifemate. Well, doesn't time fly, yes, Tisiath dear, nice and gentle, she's such a sweet girl."

A'tan smiles at the assistant and nods, "Yes that feels better. I fit right in between the ridges. It kind of locks me in nice and snug." He pats Leonneth a little bit and feels himself rise up enough so his feet aren't touching. The smile on his face grows so large, "This is great Leonneth. You are doing so good. Just go slow. I don't want you to get hurt." The young man holds on tightly and shifts just a little to make sure he won't fall again.

T'bay takes a few deep and slow breaths, steadying himself. "Now that I'm up, it's pretty good. Just that getting up here part that is hard." He shifts a little side to side, quiet communication with his lifemate, who is uncharacteristically still, as if he holds his breath as well, Indeed, a great exhalation casts up sand as Sarevith relaxes as well for a long moment. He looks around at his fellows, grins stupidly. "We're dragonriders!" Sarevith decides that's enough procrastinating, and commences the tightening of his neck muscles, slowly, slowly raising his head, causing T'bay to hold on tight, grasping at neckridges before remembering to be sure he's not hurting the dragonet.

Volath registers permission almost as fast as his rider does, such that when he begins rising up - straightening forelegs first and getting his limbs beneath him, making an ocean-wavy ride of it as the back end catches up - V'lano stammers, "Hey, hey, I didn't say ready!" His hands clasp that foreward neckridge for dear life, knuckles whitening, but the young dragon only continues up. Now that the motion is smooth, the rider relaxes a bit and very nearly startles himself out of the seat at /not/ sliding sideways. His legs tighten in again, then loosen from the knee down, letting the thighs do most of the gripping. Standing tall, Volath decides this is appropriate time for celebration, and makes his most triumphant vocalisation since hatching: a low bugle, rising toward the end, pure 'ta-da!'

Guess what? T'bay's assistant actually applauds, looking pretty gratified. "You survived! I'm so proud!"

Claret holds herself as still as she can for a moment, knuckles white around Avrieth's neck ridge as she assures herself that she's secure, and won't go tipping off balance. "Right then. You can rise, now, Avrieth," she informs her out loud, trying to envision a picture where the dragonet does so and she remains steady. And as it happens, the picture isn't too far from truth, as Avrieth starts to unbend her legs slowly. But as she finishes stretching out, she gives her wings a proud little rustle, rumbling happily and startling Claret into another, if smaller slide toward her side. Pulling herself back up yet again, she admonishes, "Stop that! I'm very pleased with you for holding me up too, but I won't stay for long, you know, if you wiggle."

"Why I remember when you were first born," the cheery assistant gushes to Lanisa. "-Oh that's wonderful A'tan, you're really getting the idea now. Just take it slowly, don't bump that cute little head of yours. Doesn't it feel wonderful to be on top of her, finally? And how's your poor head? It still /seems/ to be the right shape."

One of the young brownriders - Doralle, the lanky girl who used to be a harper - sits neatly astride her Cerdath as if she'd been doing it all her life. Cerdath takes several neat steps forward, and Doralle just couldn't look more smug. Showoff.

A'tan sits still as he holds tightly to the neckridges. He seems to have stopped breathing, but finally lets out a breath. "Yes, yes. I know to hold on. You just need to make sure you are alright." he speaks outloud to the green. Leonneth raises her head higher as her eyes whirl brightly. The young man nods to the assistant, "My head is good thanks." He then chuckles softly, "Oh Leonneth, I knew you could lift me up. I didn't doubt that." he pauses, "Oh you want the others to see that you are strong too. I understand. Just don't hurt yourself."

Bronwynn heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Bronwynn has left.

Kassima calls to V'lano, "Relax! Move with him if'n you can; he'll do his best nay t'unseat you--" She doesn't say anything aloud at the successful ascent, but only beams, pleased as pie. Lysseth hums a brief, approving note: not bad, kid. "Keep that in mind about moving with him when he's ready t'step, too. Try and be in tune with what he's doing, if'n you can...." Her attention's pulled to Avrieth and her rider then, and again that beam flashes bright and broad. "Magnificent. She's right, though, Avrieth. You can move soon--when she says she's ready!--but nay wiggling then either, hey? Because if'n she falls on her rump, you're likely t'feel it too. Most undignified."

Cantaneth waits just a breath to get the go-ahead from his rider. Then he puts all those morning workouts to work as he mimics the motion the weyrlings do with their push-ups and rises until he's standing at full height on all fours. As his bronze rises up, J'len keeps a firm grip on his neck with his legs, making sure to listen to be sure he's not holding on too tight for Cantaneth's comfort. Once he's up, Cantaneth turns his head to look back at J'len, his true rider now, and blows out a breath to ruffle J'len's hair. "You're doing great, Cantaneth! Absolutely perfect!" J'len's voice is full of pride for his bronze, but there is a moisture in his eyes that isn't due to the success of the lessoning. "Now let's walk. Remember. Stay slow and careful. First we walk... then later, when you're bigger and stronger, we fly!" The bronze concurs with a bugle and turns his head forward again to take a few slow, stately steps forward.

"No bounding Tisi. You heard him that goes for you too. Bound later, eh?" Lani does glance then, but as she hears the assistant she proves she can easily flush brighter than her hair -- Not that it's -that- bright in the first place. "Yes ma'am. If you says so ma'am." That likely for 'dishy' judging from her long suffering expression, "And here I am, yes, ma'am." When in doubt, more ma'am's. Either that or she's reminding herself not to say anything she'll regret. Not just now, at least. "When I was born, yes, ma'am." She half hisses to Tisiath then, "Just please, let's go." As in, anywhere but here?

Sarevith, not to be outdone, shows off rigid neck muscles as they work to carry his neck, and his rider, upward. Ripples cross his haunches, brown waves of desert shifting the relatively tiny shaking speck on his neck to and fro. Thighs accustomed to clinging to trees keep him seated steadily, T'bay even manages a grin to the assistant on the ground below, "So far. It's getting down I'm not looking forward to, at all. Wow, you can really see across the lake from up here. Ohh, hey Dora! Good show!" Without waiting for a go-ahead, Sarevith decides it is walking-time, now please, and he steps forward excitedly, lacking grace but making up for it with enthusiasm, and bobbling his rider all about.

And J'len's assistant, watching, shuts up long enough to watch the bronze step - and step - and once he's gotten far enough, calls, "Stop, now! No running into the lake!" A few breaths later, T'bay's does the same, only T'bay's is applauding some more, and at the boy's compliment, even Doralle can be troubled to smile and wave encouragingly to the lesser beings.

I'sai lectures, "When you've had a chance to step forward a few steps - and no, they shouldn't be this awkward in flight, they're not _meant_ for walking everywhere with those big hind legs and little forelegs of theirs - it's time to dismount. Just the reverse of before. Slow and easy, dragon crouching first and letting you get down. Yeah, crouching isn't always necessary, for you greens in particular, but I want you to set good habits. After this, you'll be practicing on your own and in a group. Careful not to overdo - don't strain your dragon, report any injuries to the weyrling staff - _any at all_ - you might have to run some extra laps, but that's better than a worse injury. And when you're done for tonight, definitely check your dragon once they're finished working, checking for anything swollen or dislocated or just not how it's supposed to be. Have any questions after that - find me or one of my amazing and lovely assistants, like S'fin." The bluerider grimaces, but seems used to it, not like he had a clutch ago. "Those of you with mentors present, be sure to thank them afterward; they have my thanks as well."

Kassima spies out the triumphant Doralle and gestures towards her. "Like that," she suggests to V'lano and Claret both. "That's how it should be. Except, y'know... nay quite so smug, unless you really want t'find the muck from your couch moved t'your pillow some night. Just a suggestion."

Claret's attention is all too consumed with trying to keep herself from any of the aforementioned undignified meetings with the ground, for her to notice the progress of the weyrlings around her. Apparently it's not beyond Avrieth, however, who does her best to turn her head for inspections without unseating her rider. "Don't tell me how to stay on, Avri," Claret mutters mutinously. "I'd be just fine if you wouldn't move." Wrinkling her nose at the thought of muck under her pillow, Claret makes sure her hold on the ridge on front of her is firm before taking another deep breath. "Okay, you can move forward. But listen to what she said--no wiggling!" Crooning with pleased assent, Avrieth takes one step forward, and then another, before taking several more in a quicker stride.

A'tan mumbles to himself, "Bounding? I'm not sure bounding is an option right now dear." The young man grabs again as Leonneth takes a few quick steps forward. She is determined to make big foot prints on the beach. See they are better because she is carrying her lifemate. A'tan shakes his head as he tightens his legs to hold himself up. He is going to have to have a chat with the green ball of energy. He leans back slightly as she wobbles him to and fro. He can't even describe how it feels or even if it is correct, but she doesn't complain of pain just happiness. "Alright Leonneth we've made prints. Time to stop here. We have to practice my getting off to you know. I can't sleep up here."

Flight is on several minds today - not V'lano's, as the butcher-no-more's attention is half on staying aseat and half on attending to his mentor's carefully humorous tutoring. Volath, however, has arched the majority of his neck sideways and up, eyeing the sky above through one darkly whorling eye of sudden midnight blue. He tilts his head the other way to change the view, then points his muzzle straight upward. Unbidden, glimmering wings span wide, spars stretching out sails to catch the lakeshore breeze. Lost in his skyward daydream, it takes several nudges and pokes to that pommel-servicing neckridge for V'lano to acquire his mount's attention: "Want to walk, Volath? Volath?" The bronze shivers and arches his neck back to eyeball his rider, then takes a single, pouty step forward, letting his forepaw land thuddily with a scrawl of talons on the shore. There, took a step. Can we go up yet?

T'bay holds on through the juggling about, though a particular wince as he jars against the forward neckridge brings both rider and dragon to a halt. "Ow," squeaks the baker's boy, blackness causing him to miss comments while he recovers. A few moments of apologetic head-lowering nearly unseat T'bay in the same manner as A'tan, and he tugs at neckridges intently until Sar raises his head again. Moving much more slowly now, Sarevith continues one careful step after another, pausing every other or so to croon or bugle encouragement or admiration toward the other practicing pairs.

That assistant of T'bay's -tries- not to laugh, and it turns out more like a choking noise. "Take your time, lad. Take your time. Good job. Slow and steady. Good job." Cerdath rumbles proudly back, and even starts to turn around and go the other way, until -his- assistant reins him in.

Kassima claps her hands once Avrieth's taken those steps, half-applause, half try for attention. "Wonderful, wonderful, but methinks that may be steps enough! Fantastic job. Claret, how're you feeling? Ready for the dismount, or d'you want a moment t'savor?" She keeps an eye--well, two: Lysseth's attention remains turned that way--on the green pair as she turns to watch the bronze, her brows lowering into a slight furrow. "The sky," she says to the bronze, "comes later, and later yet if'n you don't follow the directions now, if'n you get me. Walk a'fore you fly, get V'lano used t'sitting on you. Else you're just asking him t'fall off when you *do* fly, y'know that? I don't think you'd enjoy that much. Nor would he. Nor I."

"You were such a pretty little thing," Lanisa's assistant muses, smiling benignly on the girl, "I don't know why you stopped wearing those gorgeous little dresses. - Careful, slowly - one day... oh I'll never forget it, bows /all/ through your hair, everyone said you looked just like the eldest daughter of a lady holder. I just wanted to pick you up and pinch your cute little cheeks."

I'sai's sharp eyes swing to Volath nigh-instantaneously once his wings widen - but with his mentor on hand, and taking care of it, he doesn't say a word... although there's a sudden electric ripple through the aether, brushing by even the other dragons, that is Taralyth's own understanding - and warning.

Amidst all this reminiscing, another assistant approaches A'tan, he glances at the woman torturing Lanisa, and aims a disgusted look I'sai's way, as if to say 'where'd you dig /her/ up?' "How're you doing A'tan?" he asks. "Getting sore yet? It takes a bit of getting used to, and you know man," in a lower tone, "Best to keep yourself intact."

Yselle watches all of this from Dianneth's back. The green, bored now, leans her head /over/ another weyrling dragon to sniff at Volath, and make a nudging movement with her nuzzle as if to say 'back down'. Yselle leans forward, lying now against green hide.

I'sai just shrugs at that disgruntled assistant, with a brilliant, full-of-teeth smile; even if he hadn't been listening to the woman, likely he'd guessed - and a weyrlingmaster's got to have -some- entertainment, after all.

Claret wobbles slightly but holds her seat, paling slightly as Avrieth's movement quickens. "That's quite enough, thanks Avri," Claret says, prying a few fingers loose to give her neck an assuring pat. "You moved wonderfully." Attention drawn by Kassima's claps, Claret looks over with a swallow, giving a small smile. "Good. I mean, I feel fine. A little wobbly," she specifies, pointing to her stomach. "But I think I'm ready to get down. Thank you, m--I mean, Wingleader," she hastily corrects before leaning forward slightly and addressing Avrieth. "You can crouch down, now, so I can get off. And yes, I'll be careful, only lower slowly, and don't wiggle! Or I'll slide to the ground and that will hurt rather more."

J'len pats Cantaneth's neck as the bronze comes to a stop after walking a full length. He doesn't seem ready to dismount just yet, though, and settles into his seat on his dragon's neck looking out over the waters. Cantaneth looks back at his rider, a touch of yellow joining the blues in his eyes. J'len gives the bronze another pat, this one reassuring as he backs it up with a silent coloquy with his lifemate. What he says must settle the issue as Cantaneth's croon isn't upset but comforting. The pair both look over as the ripple of warning comes from Taralyth, then J'len decides it's best to climb down and Cantaneth reverses his movements of before until he's leaning down far enough for J'len to swing his right leg forward over the bronze's neck and slide down to the sand, landing in an easy crouch before turning around and clasping his arms around Cantaneth's neck, full of praise for his dragon's performance.

Lanisa groans. Just -groans-. At length she forces out though a miserable excuse for a smile, "Sorry ma'am. Burned them. Not even fit for rags." And she might have too, judging from her expression. "Tisi, -please-" Never a good thing when Lani has to resort to begging. Get the feeling if the blue was a runner he'd be getting one solid *thump* in the ribs about now to get him running? Needless to say, he needs no excuse to get himself moving, so moving he is. Maybe, just maybe Lani will be lucky enough they can leave the assistant behind? Maybe...

A'tan chuckles and nods to the man. "Yes I know sir. Its hard to try to explain that to a dragon though. If you know what I mean." He pats Leonneth once again to show her he meant it when its time to stop. "Come on now Leonneth. Lower down." He waits patiently as she snorts and opens her dark wings up for a moment for balance. She finally lowers her head and A'tan lets his feet touch the ground. He holds on to steady himself as he steps into a wet spot and blanches, "Great wet shoes too." He brings his leg up and shakes his head, "No you didn't do anything wrong. Just some water."

The young bronze keeps his wings spread, but tucks the spars just a little - cowed adequately by the direct admonishment from Taralyth, he nevertheless is defiant enough to keep his sails unfurled enough to savor the breeze. Another step is made, with careful backward glance to ascertain the steadiness of his rider; then another. V'lano, relaxing as the task of walking proves enough to just barely contain his mount's desires for now, breathes. "Thank you," he murmurs to the dragon, then shoots a belatedly grateful grimace toward I'sai. "Yes, I'm slowing you down," he goes on for Volath's benefit. "But this is how it's taught. Look up if you like - " And pausing, one forelimb raised for a dainty next step to the mucky sand near the lapping water, the young dragon does so. "But keep your wings to yourself for now!"

You paged Ellery with 'That is probably rp fatigue, speaking there. I really need to work on getting more poetic. Though, frankly, most people aren't, even Kassi, say. I'sai has the capability, I am certain, as I see hints, but even he does not. Playing the dragon is going okay. I'm starting to get a feel for it. I'm not as good as some, but people aren't playing them -quite- so much right now, so that helps. Clearly a bunch, but not several sentences of pure dragon posing unrelated to the task at hand.'.

I'sai calls over to A'tan, "Looks as though you've about had it - head on over to the barracks and clean up, check her all over. There'll be plenty of more practice tomorrow if she's up to it. Nearing time for everyone else to wind up, too." His nod to V'lano is brief, not drawing more attention to that pair than necessary, though pale eyes glint on those unfurled sails.

Sarevith shudders, half stretching his wings out, then drawing of them back to his side, heeding the directions of Taralyth, though it may be more for fear of dropping his rider on his head than intimidation. "That's right. Whatever it takes to keep you right here," agrees T'bay, patting the dragon's neck. "Besides, we've a bit of work to do before we're ready for that." Sare stretches his neck about, regarding his lifemate with an unblinking stare of slowly whirling blue, causing T'bay to stretch carefully to give his closest headknob a brief scratch before he aims to regain his balance, the moment of sharing finished as the moment of dismounting approaches.

No such luck, Lanisa's assistant charges after her, "What a shame," she says. "I always liked you in a dress, especially a pink one. How will you ever get yourself a weyrmate dear, if you don't wear a dress? Now I've heard rumours about you and that M'tri, but dear, you're a rider now and you've got to show everyone what a lovely little figure you're growing."

Kassima's nod to Claret is an understanding one. "Takes some getting used to," she offers. "Just like the mounting. 'Tis one of those things that will get better every time you do it. Be careful now, aye? Both of you. Avrieth, the less you wiggle now, the faster she can dismount, and the sooner you can be free t'look about and wriggle all your heart desires." A fleeting grin follows that; she adds, "You're welcome," and looks to Volath again. "Good," she says to dragon and rider. "That's fine. Though walking's apt t'be easier with wings furled, for future reference's sake. You can stop walking now--how about you, V'lano, are you set t'come down?"

A'tan salutes to I'sai and nods. "She thinks that she has to outdo everyone else right now. Thank you sir for all your help." He pats Leonneth and smiles. "See it wasn't that bad and you did just as good as everyone else did." He makes his way past the group slowly as Leonneth lumbers towards the barracks. He salutes all those in his path that need saluting before moving into the home he shares with the others.

"Welcome, A'tan. Leonneth." Once he's seen them off, I'sai continues to walk through the pairs - giving T'bay an approving nod, given his conversation with Sarevith, and then J'len; Taralyth must have seen that reassurance, even if he himself hadn't. Once he's reached Lanisa's assistant, though, he says briefly, "Save it till after graduation." And although he moves on without looking at her again, and although his words are simple - that cool tone is unmistakable.

"I don't doubt it," V'lano mutters good-naturedly, and reaches out - brave enough now to take a hand off of that foreward ridge - to stroke the dappled neck beneath him. The young rider pauses then and, after a moment's concentration, wins assent from Volath that the ride is over. The upraised forelimb drops to place and the dragon bends low, curving his neck around to avoid putting his muzzle into the damp sand right in front of him. A low whuff escapes flared nostrils, his eyes whirling rather quickly as V'lano struggles and finally slips off of the crouched bronze, but slow strokes at muzzle and rubs behind the headknobs soothe those eyes to a slower spin of green. "All right, sweet friend. I'm on the ground again. Would you like some oiling? A nice snack?" No, say those moody eyes, the great head tilting sideways. Volath would prefer to gaze mournfully at the sky, thank you.

Avrieth follows her duplicate instructions, lowering herself closer to the ground at a fairly steady pace. That being done, Claret looks down, shifting her hold on Avrieth's neck ridge in preparation for swinging down. Nodding toward Kassima, Claret addresses Avrieth pragmatically. "See? That's sensible. You can have a wrigglefest in a minute." Cautiously, she starts drawing one leg back over Avrieth's side, holding herself up with her hands as long as she can before slithering to the ground in an awkward motion, landing with a thump and an "Oof."

T'bay returns a smile for the Weyrlingmaster as he passes, then swallows hard and blanches once more as Sarevith slips back downward toward the ground, extending his foreleg to 'catch' should that be needed. "Hoo boy," he murmurs, readjusting his position. Swinging one leg over the dragonet's neck, he positions himself in an imitation of what he's seen the experienced riders do, and all is well, a smooth slide downward bringing the slowly getting fit youth down down down over hide, over foreleg, and feet first, into the sand, where he continues his downward momentum until he's on his knees, then chin-into-sand. "Ptooie," he spits, rubbing his lightly bruised chin, triumphantly, "Made it!"

Lanisa might have wimpered in frustration, only she's clearly determined not to. Not her style anyway. "Pink clashes with my hair." Well, maybe not, but it's the best she can do without saying what she might really want too, "And I don't need a dress. Doesn't go well with mucking and chores, ma'am." She reminds, chin lifting a little as she tries ignoring now. Maybe that will work? Or maybe it doesn't have to? At least this time... Tisiath at least seems to flourish under the attention his rider is getting. No such thing as bad publicity?

Kassima and Lysseth have switched focuses: it's the dragon who watches V'lano dismount, and the dragon who lets her approval be known in a low rumble once the Weyrling is safely on terra firma. She has no chide for mourning the sky... not so long as those wings stay in place. "He's an impatient one," her rider comments to V'lano in a low voice, a thread of rueful amusement running under it. "Most young ones are, somewhat, but. Does he feel well; hasn't strained aught? Nay sore muscles or bangings beyond the bruised wing?" Returning her eyes to Avrieth and her rider, she's evidently pleased enough with what she witnesses. "Grace can wait," she promises, "and you'll have plenty of time t'practice. Trust me. Both of you did most well--be sure though t'be checking her for the strains too, ere she gets too much wiggling underway."

Some of the assistants and the odd mentor stay in place, helping their weyrlings out; as for I'sai, at S'fin's muttered comment, he herds a few pairs towards the barracks with a last wave.

Since the weyrlings are doing a good job of dismounting themselves, Yselle slides down in a more flashy, uncontrolled manner than that in which she went up. She reaches to scritch Dianneth's eyeridge and begins to walk back through the class, offering Lanisa a sympathetic grin. The assistant who was so chatty takes one look at the Weyrlingmaster and says "Oh well, more of that later," in a hurried manner and runs off. "Seems to have gone off with a minimum of injuries," Yselle mentions as she walks past I'sai. "Aside from the few excitable ones, they seem to be doing well."

"Hope it stays that way," I'sai agrees before he heads on off, just slow enough to not be chasing that chatty assistant. She's learned. For now.

Leonneth has left.

Kharoth has left.

I'sai heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
I'sai has left.

"He's in love with the sky," V'lano replies, stroking the length of the star-kissed neck as Volath raises his head and lumbers to his full height with a low whuf of irritation. The eyes stay green, though, and not too much of the stroking coaxes the young bronze to begin following his lifemate toward the bowl, pausing nearest Lysseth. "I can't feel any hurts but the elb - er, wing," the butcher's son reports, putting his hand across himself to cradle the other elbow with an unconscious grin. "I'll heat and cool it and oil it a little specially, and he should be fine." Volath, for his own part, ducks his head more or less humbly to the Wingleader's green, though the effect would be more appropriate if he wouldn't cant his head sideways a bit to peer at her shape backdropped by the - yes, of course, sky.

Yselle snorts, and walks off in a different direction - not to the barracks at all. There are still enough assistants about to watch the weyrlings, and Dianneth stays, sulking now that her rider has left her.

Yselle heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Yselle has left.

J'len and Cantaneth settle down onto the sand, Cantaneth pushing sand aside for a wallow and J'len kneeling down on the pile of sand so he can run his hands over the bronze's neck and shoulder; checking for soreness and strain as instructed by the weyrlingmaster staff.

Sarevith blossoms at the murmured praises he overhears, raising himself up and stretching out his wings, puffing up his barrel chest. T'bay climbs to his feet, brushing off sand from his trousers, shirt, and even his face. "Maybe some fresh water would be good," he explains, heading back toward the bowl as well. "Then we'll look over you for hurts, Sare. Night, J'len, well done there, and night, Dianneth. Thanks for teaching us. That was an amazing experience." He blows her a brazen little kiss on his way past, Sarevith making sounds something like clucking which turns out to be the clacking of his teeth in admiration and maybe a hint of jealousy.

Claret regains her footing, leaning a hand against Avrieth to help steady herself. "You did brilliantly, Avrieth. And I'll have a look all over you once we get back to the barracks." Crooning happily, Avrieth now takes the opportunity to wriggle freely, swiveling her head to whuffle at Claret's hair, and then back to have a look at her clutchmates. "Thanks," Claret replies to Kassima, a bright smile gracing her features. "And I'll be sure to check and see if she's hurt anywhere. Oh, and thank you for being here to help!" she adds, dutifully in accordance with I'sai's instructions though she doesn't look at all insincere about it. Starting back toward the barracks she offers a parting salute for Kassima, and a little wave for those she passes, Avrieth ambling along happily behind her.

Sarevith lumbers in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Sarevith has left.

T'bay heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
T'bay has left.

"The sky's arguably the truest mate any dragon has," Kassima says, favoring the constellations above with a long look of her own. "There's a time and there's a place, is all. If'n it aches, a little numbweed might be in order--but let the Weyrlingmasters know if'n it doesn't fade soon. You both did well tonight. Lyss and I will likely be available from time t'time," and she turns to address this towards Claret too, "if'n you should need or want someone t'practice with, though I suspect you'd do fine on your own." The tilt of Lysseth's slender head, the arch of her neck, say much about her recognition of the actual focus of Volath's regard--and how it amuses her. "Always welcome," the rider assures to Claret with a smile right back. "Completely m'pleasure. G'night t'you!" The salute is returned, briskly.

Lanisa manages getting down with far less fuss than she had getting up. Even if Tisiath dances some again. But rather than look at -anyone- else, she too is moving to check over her lifemate for strain. And the blue, well, he doesn't mind that, not since it means he can be fussed over all the more.

Weyrling Class, Week

2006-08-14T02:25:29Z

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<lj-cut text="???? -- Part 1">

Weyrling Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This immense cavern is the home for weyrling pairs. A huge opening is the entrance, leading to the ground level bowl. The floor is not quite smooth, being gouged with numerous scratches and cracks, from the clumsy undergrown claws on equally clumsy dragonets. The indentations on the floor, made by millennial pressure of the growing dragons, are quite suggestive of their purpose. Most of them have furs in one corner of them, as the new riders sleep as near their lifemates as they can. A particular odour lingers in the air here, not quite pleasant.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Volath Tisiath Sarevith Avrieth Leonneth
PLAYERS: A'tan T'bay Lanisa V'lano Claret

Obvious Exits:
Bowl

The regular thumps of meat into bins pause. V'lano blinks at the remark regarding the day's exercises, then watches the Weyrsecond exit the barracks. "Awake," he snorts quietly, and looks over the cutting-blocks toward the bronze mass near the not-Volath's couch. The look grows intent, and after a bit of it, the young dragon lifts his head, outer eyelids opening, inner ones remaining closed in dignified protest. "Yea," his lifemate tells Volath, shedding apron and knives and pausing even to wash bloodied hands before coming around with a damp towel to wipe a meaty smear from the dragon's chin.

Dragon> Telgar Weyrlings sense that Taralyth glitters a summons to those awake, those about, whose who want to _ride_: he envisions the lakeshore, lifemates, no more, underscored by an electric blue sense of urgency - << Now. >>

T'bay is quick to clean up, placing the paddle and the bucket back in their places. "Did you hear that? We're going to see who can roll the farthest today," he grins, stepping wide as Sarevith rears up to show his wingstrength. "Easy there, big guy. The time'll come." He spares a chuckle for Vel's obstinate lifemate, winks at Lanisa. "I think she must've written us all. It was good to hear from her--oh!" This last has come via an insistent shove from Sarevith. "I'm going, I'm going!" Gathering his efforts at straps, and his courage, he heads toward the lake's shore.

A'tan picks up the bowl and puts it back in its place. He jogs back over to his cot and smiles. "Let's head outside Leonneth. We're going out to the lake." The little green bumps him to get him moving faster and he chuckles, "All right, all right. Let's go."

Volath, too, answers Taralyth's call, though not without a low rumble of irritation: can't a dragon digest a good meal in peace? The young bronze climbs to his feet and nudges his rider severely in the ribs, to which a low 'ow' is responded. Then they, too, follow toward the lake.

Sarevith moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
Sarevith has left.

V'lano moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
V'lano has left.

T'bay moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
T'bay has left.

Volath moves through the opening to the west, heading toward the bowl.
Volath has left.

You move through the opening to the west, heading into the bowl.

Volath lumbers in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Volath has left.

V'lano heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
V'lano has left.

Kassima's head and Lysseth's both turn towards the Lake Shore in perfect synchrony. "Sounds like a cue. C'mon, Lyss; I can't be expected t'be useful *without* you--" Lysseth's rumble would suggest she concurs with *that* statement. Without her stick today, her steps too are uneven, but Lyss graciously walks beside her rider to be there for her, and likely be the first to point and laugh should she fall.

Kassima heads in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.
Kassima has left.

Tisiath comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Tisiath has arrived.

You head in the direction of the shimmering lake, leaving the central bowl area of the Weyr.

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass has a clean green color and is tender with spring. The first water lilies on the pond are blooming in yellow and white, and pink, yellow, and white wildflowers scatter the field. The white climbs even into the trees, with blowing petals amid the new green leaves. The herb garden, still mostly cut back for the winter, is hemmed about with crocuses. The red shades of sunset cast the meadow into deep, but peaceful shadows.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Kharoth Volath Cantaneth
PLAYERS: Kassima J'len V'lano Claret Yselle I'sai

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Lysseth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Lysseth has arrived.

Tisiath lumbers in from the central bowl.
Tisiath has arrived.

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

Dianneth flies in from above.
Dianneth has arrived.

Lanisa heads over from the central bowl.
Lanisa has arrived.

Sarevith lumbers in from the central bowl.
Sarevith has arrived.

T'bay heads over from the central bowl.
T'bay has arrived.

Kharoth is stretched out near the edge of the lake, resting. He opens his eyes slowly, not bothering to lift his head, with a distinctly lazy air, watching the other dragons and weyrlings arrive.

A'tan heads over from the central bowl.
A'tan has arrived.

Leonneth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Leonneth has arrived.

I'sai gives Kharoth the eye, and warns him, "Going to be noisy 'round here," but he doesn't move to disturb Aerie's wingleader. Not with as many Turns as he's got.

"Can't say I'm too surprised she did. And yeah, it was good to hear..." Lani tells T'bay as she comes along with the others. By then she looks ahead to give a sharp salute, at least until she's nudged in the back but Tisiath. Well, she'd tried to do a good one anyway.

Kharoth yawns, and shrugs a wing slightly, having slept through more than one noisy weyrling class in his time.

T'bay approaches at a run, chasing after the far-in-the-lead Sarevith. His arriving salute, given as he is only panting lightly, hints at morning jogs taken seriously. "Sure was," he agrees with Lanisa.

"You wake up faster than anyone I've ever met, and complain about it more than your share," V'lano leans close to Volath's foreshoulder to hiss, the dragon flinching barely a muscle to send a wingspar shivering in reply. His neck cranes upward in silent consideration of the larger dragons, even the sleepy-seeming blue farther 'round the shore; particularly at Dianneth, the young bronze's eyes shade a deeper green and whirl a bit faster, pleasedly. His rider, distracted equally by the riders of all these full-grown dragons, works out salutes in time to each: "Weyrlingmaster, Weyrsecond, Wingleader."

Dianneth spirals down, showing off, as usual, turning a sommersault mid-air and much closer to the ground than most dragons would attempt. Satisfied with her own wonderfulness, she perches herself at the shore, watching her rider enter, her eyes fixed in place. Yselle, for her part, wanders after, but not /with/ I'sai, and when she's reached the spot he chooses to end up, she adopts an 'at ease' posture, allowing him the floor, such as it is. She nods to V'lano's salute. "Weyrling."

I'sai's characteristic stalk is somewhat limp-impaired, but he does it all the same, shoulders square and jaw set, starting off before all the pairs even arrive. "All -right-, you lot. Groundriding." - "No, not you, E'tan; Marbauth's neck was too patchy this morning, you're going to have to fix that first." The weyrling grumps and leads his green back towards the barracks, evidently not having luck with explaining why given how she's craning a look back over her wings every few steps. "You've been doing exercises with their necks, their wings, along with the rest - well, the wings'll have to wait, but now you'll actually get to sit astride like real riding pairs. Line up, please, two by two; Kassima, as you've the - fortune - to be mentoring V'lano and Claret, I'll put you to work between 'em, please. V'lano, in the context of weyrlinghood, she's 'Assistant Weyrlingmaster' to you. Yselle, I'd like you to illustrate for me; weyrlings, you follow along. If Dianneth doesn't mind showing off, that is," and he gives the flashy green a quick grin.

A'tan walks over with the group and offers salutes where they need to be. He scratches his head as his hair goes in several more directions than it already is in. He smiles at Lani and the others.

Kassima, shadowed by Lysseth, ambles somewhat unevenly in on the heels of much of the Weyrling melee. "Even without catcalls?" she murmurs with the momentary gleam of a grin. But there's are salutes to be returned, and she does so with a formality fitting the occasion. "Evening, Weyrlings." Surprise steals across her expression--but not the displeased sort. "Works for me, Weyrlingmaster," she agrees with an inclination of her head, and the green pair alters course to find the place indicated.

Claret snaps salutes to all the riders as she follows the rest of the weyrlings toward the lake. Rubbing excess oil off her hand and onto her tunic, she shuffles closer to V'lano, Avrieth following with more alacrity, her eyes whirling with interest.

Dianneth croons at I'sai, ruffling her wings smugly, apparently pleased with the attention she's suddenly got from him, shooting her a glare, Yselle mutters, "Oh shut up," then, with a glance at I'sai, "You're making a friend," that in a sort of exasperated way. She salutes once again, and walks over to the green, who, in response to Volath's appreciation, even spreads her wings out to show them off.

T'bay watches Dianneth with rapt attention, he and Sarevith observing the sommersault with an echoed woah-whuff of admiration on the part of each. It is a moment of delay on T'bay's part which prompts another nudge from the brown dragonet, urging his lifemate to join the line while the dragon flexes his neck muscles via repeated swallows to prove he's prepared. "Evenin' ma'am, sirs."

Volath, at V'lano's nudging, finds a spot very much like the one I'sai has instructed, though both dragon and rider pause before really settling into place to await Kassima's arrival, prepared to reposition at her requirement. "Apologies," the Lemos youth directs toward I'sai, then bows a shallow nod to Yselle and corrects himself, "Assistant Weyrlingmaster." The last set of consonants in the latter word is fumbled a bit - well, it's kind of a mouthful. Nevertheless the weyrling is suitably abashed-looking for a moment, anyway. Volath attends more to Avrieth, arching his neck and spanning out one wing in her direction most invitingly.

Kharoth perks up a bit, watching the greens... oh, and the younglings too, of course, his head lifting from the sand as he rests, stretched out to his full length, comfortably out of the way.

Kassima acknowledges V'lano and Volath's consideration with a flashed smile as she and Lysseth come to rest equidistant between green pair and bronze pair, with the precision long experience brings. She turns enough to share that grin with Claret, and permits herself a moment of informality: "This," she murmurs to both mentees, "should be fun. Naught else quite like it. You'll see." Lysseth's tail flicks, the only outward expression of the amusement that sets eye-facets to gleaming.

J'len and Cantaneth are already in place when the rush comes from the barracks. Helped that they were halfway there when the call came out. Both he and his bronze are shuffling from one foot to another, their actions a mirror of each other as they prepare for this first experience. Since they've been instructed to line up two-by-two, he and Cantaneth settle in beside Sarevith and T'bay with a smile to the brown and his rider. "You ready for this, T'bay?" J'len's voice betrays his own excitement at what they're about to do.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Cantaneth, Tisiath, Avrieth, Sarevith, and Leonneth with << It is about time. >> A spattering of droplets of light play over a darker stream, excitable and speedy like a sudden rainfall through sunshine. << We have been ready for at least ... a long time now! My neck is strong, and he is not so big. Will you be able to carry your A'tan, Leonneth? >>

Lanisa, for her part, settles back in with the others. Just far enough removed from the Weyrlingmaster and assistant to not draw extra attention to herself -- just close enough to be able to watch with an unobstructed view. Course, she doesn't need to work at drawing attention to them, Tisiath has that well in hand with his head held as high as he can manage and wings lightly spread. Lani just rolls her eyes at the blue an then smiles, not able to keep up the serious/attentive expression she'd aimed for.

I'sai announces - it's not a shout, but that light tenor carries even through the crowd - "First thing, is ask your dragonets to lower to the ground, especially the base of their neck, and to hold very still." He glances to Yselle, giving her the cue, before continuing to speak to the group. "Yes, it's tempting to peek, yes, it's tempting to wiggle, but you'll get to that. You don't have straps, because I want you to get adjusted to -feeling- what it's like to ride your dragon without counting on straps that probably aren't all that great by now anyway. And holding still - well, let's just say they're a whole lot more flexible than runners, and a broken leg's going to slow you down for _real_ flying, and who wants that? Any volunteers? - Yeah, you in the back, very funny. - Then, get up onto your dragon's neck: low on the neck, right near the body, between the last ridge of the neck and the first of the back. Take it -slowly-. Ease on up, nothing flashy, your dragon'll tell you if anything hurts. Don't fall over the other side. Your dragon'll be distressed when you do, and nobody likes that." Could it be that simple? He waves to Yselle - show them the way! - while a nod encourages Kassima and more formal assistants to wander around and give suggestions of their own.

Dragon> Telgar Weyrlings sense that Leonneth croons sweetly to the other dragons. <>

Sarevith's eyes whirl with curiousity and eagerness, his gaze flitting about, though it momentarily settles on the elder sky blue dragon who rests nearby. He dips his head politely, then stretches out his neck, bugling a tenor's excited hello. His lifemate T'bay tucks a set of pathetic straps into his pocket with a grin and a nod to J'len, and his voice squeaks nervously, "Yep." He clears his throat, tries again, "Well, he's ready. I'm working on it. Say, how about you go first, after Yselle? I'll watch and, ah, take pointers."

Dianneth snorts, she is in an excellent mood, and only lowers her wings slowly, as if to bestow all her loveliness on them for as long as possible. Just as though she were taking direct orders from I'sai, and Faranth only knows how such a thing would come about, she sinks low to the ground, much lower than most of the weyrling dragons, clumsier in their youth, will achieve. "Right, it'll be easier for you," Yselle calls out, louder now, "Since your lifemates aren't anywhere near the size of Dianneth, but, try and grab onto a neckridge, and pull yourself up. Ask for a forelimb if it's too high and..." and with exaggerated slowness, she ascends Dianneth's neck. From that vantage, she can wave down at them, and, eschewing dignity, Dianneth turns her head to wuffle her hair. "Course she knows how to stay still when I mount."

One of the assistants - where'd she been before? - says from Sarevith's other side, "T'bay, I heard that." Ominous much? It's right out of harper lessons, seems like: "No copying anyone other than Yselle up there. Do it on your own - we'll be watching."

Kassima offers helpful advice of her own: "I've a Wingmate who managed t'pull a muscle in a most inconvenient and embarrassing place when he was a Weyrling, trying t'swing up too quick; I really don't recommend it. Unless you've really always yearned for a humiliating nickname of your very own." For all her lightness of tone, she watches the mountings keenly--mentees' most particularly, and Lysseth's gaze is no less shrewd. "Greens have it easier in that their necks aren't so tall, now or later. But there's less width, too, so 'tis easier t'overswing. Be careful."

Volath's more than ready to crouch low, V'lano's hand on a foreshoulder unnecessary to tell the young bronze what to do. "Like I've leaned over you," the weyrling murmurs, more for his own certainty than for his lifemate's. An impatient exhalation through the dragon's nostrils is all provided for reply, and without any further preparations available to excuse delay - dragon belly flat to the ground, head low, neck well within reach - the Lemosian butcher's son catches a big breath in his throat and swings up a leg. Volath's form is perfect. V'lano's is not: he clearly expects the dragon to be shaped like a runner. Runners don't have wings. The youth's boot catches a spar with a heavy thud and the mounting attempt is aborted while the dragon rises slightly and regards his rider with faintly betrayed green eyes tinged with a dash of pale around the edges.

Claret gives Kassima a bare nod at her comment, looking toward Avrieth with a trepidation that the dragonet, who is wriggling happily, does not seem to share. "Hold still," she admonishes. "Or I shan't be able to manage at all, and will fall off directly." With a last wriggle and rustle of her wings, Avrieth stills obediently, now torn between craning her neck around to watch Claret, and inspecting the progress of the other weyrlings. Reaching her hands to grab a neck ridge, she attempts to heft herself up, rather than swing, and ends up slithering back down Avrieth's side with a little thump.

Hardly waiting for the Assistant Weyrlingmaster to demonstrate, R'len eyes his lifemate with some panic, "I don't think so," he says. "You're /way/ too big. Did you hear what the weyrlingmaster said? We could /fall/, and you know what they say about broken legs," that of course, brings /his/ attention to I'sai.

T'bay straightens his posture sharply, the picture of school-desk innocence, though the flush in his cheeks reveal that he's taken the warning to heart. "Oh good. Overswing, get a sore in a place my mom wouldn't say out loud. Or roll on your head. You stay real still, okay, Sarevith?" Cooperatively, the excited brown leans his head forward, tries to rest it against the ground flat. T'bay pats a few places where the neck is cart-tall, Sarevith tries to lower them, whuffling low encouragement even as T'bay blanches at R'len's outcry.

Leonneth narrows her eyes slightly as she looks at each of the larger dragons who are her siblings. She snorts loudly and then nudges A'tan at his backside. The young man jumps out of the way thinking he bumped into his mate, but then realizes that Leonneth has already lowered her head. The young man takes a deep breath, "Alright. This can be easy. Almost like getting up on Nepenth. Just a smaller neck right?" He tries to talk himself into it as he swings a leg over the neck and pats the greens head.

Kassima manages to suppress her wince. Well, most of it. "Your position's good, Volath--just have t'be careful of the wings, V'lano. They take up a lot of room." No, really? "Is he all right? --Oof. Nay worries, Claret; the swing takes practice. Try it again?" As the sound of a brown Weyrling misjudging the size of his dragon's neck completely and tumbling to a rear-end landing catches her attention, she adds encouragingly, "You could both be doing worse."

Does I'sai have eyes in the back of his head? Or the sides? Or what? His pale gaze swings back to R'len, and he gives the lad a sharp grin, starting to walk towards the pair. "Just be careful. Very, very careful." Not like that fallen-off brownling over there, who gets up, rubbing his tailbone and making quite a lot of faces. At the same time, T'bay's lucky assistant tells -him-, "I'll say it out loud even if your mother won't. But you can do it. Just take it easy, slow and easy. Sarevith, let him step on a foreleg if he needs, he's not -that- heavy."

"Steady!" one of the assistants cautions A'tan. "She's not as strong as your mother's dragon yet. Just take it slow, easy. Remember to pay attention to what you feel from her. Is she uncomfortable where your feet are? Did that climb hurt her? She'll tell you, but you should be able to /feel/ it through her." Yselle, for her part, watches from her aloft position, muttering, "Careful," as her gaze settles on the weyrling with the tailbone.

J'len smiles back at T'bay, "Just keep calm and Sarevith will keep calm. You'll do great." Then he's all business-at-hand as he turns back to stand at Cantaneth's left side. "Ok, dearheart..." He lets out a long, slow breath and brings to mind the image of how the bronze needs to go belly-down in the sand; neck out straight, forelegs forward, barrel firmly down in the sand. After a moment where he croons to his soon-to-be rider, Cantaneth follows the instructions to the letter. "Wonderful. Now keep still. Your part is done for now. It'll be my job to not fall over." He steps up to Cantaneth's left foreleg; even with his height, Cantaneth is just a touch large for him to feel comfortable mounting without the extra help.

Staying still. Well, that's where Lanisa's trouble will start. And most likely where it will end as she starts arguing with Tisiath under her breath, "They wont be able to see us ride -anywhere- if you don't stop trying to see who's watching, put your head down and let me get up, silly." But all in good time, the stout little blue finally stops moving long enough to lower himself as he's suppose too, but with far less grace than their example. "-Finally.-" Lani teases in an exasperated tone before she moves to mount. Tisiath manages to hold perfectly still now at least, a forleg for a boost and it's not terribly long before, a smiling Lani is carefully settled in place.

T'bay paces back and forth several times to inspect the line of Sarevith's spread-out neck, delaying the inevitable. "Just like shimmying up a stripling back at home. I can do this." A low grin, and a flush at the reference to his weight, Sarevith shaking only slightly with an expression of laughter. "We can do this." Thus reassured, he reaches up, grasps a neckridge, puts his considerable upper body strength to good use, and pulls himself upward, arm-over-arm. Finally, hanging from a neckridge above the ground, feet pointed downward, cliff-clinging style, he murmurs, "I think I missed a step somewhere. Yeah, we should probably try that foreleg idea. Nono! Don't move yet. Not till I get down."

Volath's hurt is strictly temporary. After some soothing pats and caresses to the bruised spar-joint from an apologetically murmuring V'lano, the pair are ready for a second attempt. This time, the bronze thoughtfully lowers his wings as much as he can without stretching them out into the space his rider needs to stand in. Again, the neck is lowered and the head pushed toward the ground. "He's good - a little bruise, maybe," V'lano calls over to Kassima, grinning gladly for the interruption. Lower, for the dragon's benefit, he adds, "Good thing we're not using those wings today." He puts firm hands around a neck-ridge, steadies outer foot just above the talons for a very low step up, and makes a second effort, bending his knee this time to pull the inner leg close enough to his body to clear the wingspars. Success! For a moment. Seated between the star-dazzled ridges of his lifemate's neck, V'lano can beam triumph for only a moment before gravity starts to nudge him sideways toward the ground. "Erp," he remarks. Volath keeps his neck low and shifts it slightly the other way, assisting as best he can in his rider's balancing act.

Bronwynn heads over from the central bowl.
Bronwynn has arrived.

I'sai eyes R'len all over again, gives him a thumbs-up for no immediately obvious reason, and as S'fin comes hurrying up, nods him towards J'len. The bluerider sees the situation in a glance and tells the weyrling, "Slow and easy. Remember. You have a lot of momentum to work with. You fall, you're going to fall hard - so don't fall." The skinny man walks to the other side and adds, "I'll catch if I have to, but -try- not to fall on me." And through all this, T'bay's assistant offers a hand, make that two, "Need a push up?"

Avrieth bends her neck a bit further to Claret, giving her a questioning croon. "It's all right," she supplies readily. "We'll just try again. This is when it's nice to be smaller, see? And a bit lower," she adds. As Claret raises her hands to grab her neckridge again, Avrieth swivels her head abruptly in the opposite direction to survey V'lano and Volath's problems. "Hey, stop that!" Claret cries, her attempt at swinging up aborted as she loses her hold. "Stay -still-" she repeats, and taking a deep breath, she grabs hold and swings herself. Making it up onto Avrieth's neck, this time, she clutches Avrieth tightly as she tries to steady herself by sliding her leg over her neck fully.

Laughing, the assistant who's watching A'tan reaches out a hand for Tisiath. "Hey, I know you're excited, but if you really want her on your back, you're going to have to settle down," she ways. "Careful he doesn't move before you've settled yourself, Lanisa. Mind you, it'd make a good story later in the barracks, but your father might take a broken limb personally, and /we/ have to work with him."

A'tan keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground as he waits and feels what Leonneth describes to him. He smiles and nods his head, "Yes it does feel weird. You aren't very big so its easy to touch the ground." He scrithes her ridges for a moment, but then flipped over Leonneth's head as she is anxious and lifts him up without warning.

Kassima offers to no one in particular, "That ridge in front of you can be handy if'n you do feel unsteady; you can hang onto it, so long as it doesn't make your dragon uncomfortable. Lyss has certes had t'put up with me grabbing for it often enough." Lysseth's brief dip of chin might be read as a nod. She arches her neck to peek over towards the Weyrling pairs all around her, rumbling a note of approval for this mounting, stifling a laugh for that--and getting a thump in the shoulder for her trouble. "He probably won't be the only one bruised a'fore the evening's over," she grins back to V'lano. "As you might imagine if'n you've ever ridden runners. Looking good! Sit back against that ridge; clasp with your legs as tight as doesn't discomfit him. 'Twill help. Almost there, Claret... there. That's the way. But 'twill take a bit more practice ere she's ready t'mount with you moving about, Avrieth!"

Yselle sits up straighter on Dianneth's neck, irritably smoothing her hair down from the green's wuffle. "I said it and I mean it," she mutters under her breath. "When you feel comfortable on your lifemate's neck, try adjusting your position a little," she of course does not fall when she moves about. One would hope not. Meanwhile, the woman keeping an eye on A'tan and Lanisa says cheerfully "Oh dear, up you get dear," to the greenling. "Any broken bones? How's that head of yours? Nothing leaking out your ears?"

I'sai looks all around, listens briefly to a few comments assistants make and replies just as briefly, then goes on even if everyone hasn't managed yet. Maybe it'll be incentive. "All -right-. Nice job, Dia, Yselle, everyone - " well, almost everyone. "Once you're up, and it may take a couple more tries, it's time to enjoy the view, get comfortable - and once you feel comfortable, _and only then_, ask your dragonet to rise up to all four paws. Lads, careful with the neckridge in front of you; like a pommel on a saddle, hit it the wrong way, it'll hurt. Once you're comfortable there, you can look around, twist, turn, get used to the view - and how it feels to you and your dragon for you to be up there. This is the first time you'll ever be astride your dragon for real, or at least it'd better be. Remember it if you can - but most importantly, just enjoy it. And don't fall off." Yes, R'len and A'tan, he's talking to you.

T'bay reverses direction, hand-below-hand until he's on the ground, knees trembling. "Maybe I'll give it a go with the--Thanks," he murmurs as the brown extends his foreleg, just touching T'bay with its tip, "The foreleg." T'bay steps up, pausing to get feedback regarding the placement of his foot and the distribution of his weight. Methodically, he shifts about, testing for Sarevith's comfort until he's within reach of the goal-neckridge. Slowly, he braces, hops upward, and slides back down the dragon's side. Intently, he tries again, Sarevith crooning, and this time, with an extra push push push from the assistant, he's up, whitefaced, and sitting very very still. Pommel, indeed.

A'tan rubs his head for a moment and then chuckles. "Oh I guess you were really exicted there Leonneth. I wasn't quite ready for that." He gets up and brushes off his pants before letting the dragonette put her head down. He moves slowing and brings his leg back over and settles onto her neck a little holding onto the neckridge like I'sai suggests. Yep, just like Nepenth just a lot smaller. "There I think that is pretty good. Oh, shift left a little bit." He moves his body a little, "Ok, yeah. That is better." he says to the green.

Claret grabs for the neck ridge in front of her, as per Kassima's instructions, murmuring, "You hear that, Av? Absolutely no wriggling about or I'll end up in a puddle on the--ooh, stop that!" she breaks off as Avrieth twists her neck, yet again trying to get a look at her rider. In the midst of pulling herself more securely onto Avrieth's neck, Claret starts to slide down the other side, hanging awkwardly for a moment before Avrieth stills. Crooning apologetically, Avrieth doesn't stop trying to get a look at Claret, but at least she stops wriggling long enough for her rider to pull herself into what is more or less a steady perch between two ridges.

Finally, and with much trepidation, R'len attempts to mount. Things look really /good/ until the moment he yells, "Yeeha!" and his lifemate, startled, tosses his head. He slides down the side ignonimously, his foot caught in the neckridge, so he's teetering about on one foot. "I'm stuck!" he yells.

V'lano sways one way, then the other as the dragon who is tenuously now his mount attempts to help keep the rider's center of gravity somewhere directly over his neck, twisting his head one way and then the other. Something Kassima says breaks through, and at the apex of one artfully swaying arc sideways, the butcher's son clasps tight with his thighs, squeezing his legs around the shape of the young bronze's neck in that unnatural curvature known only to people who ride large creatures. Volath exhales a sigh sounding much like relief as his rider steadies, then slowly upraises his neck just a few feet from ground to rest the muscles holding it low and test those supporting his rider's weight. Said rider takes this opportunity to stare around, having missed the best part of T'bay's predicament and many others. "Hey," he realizes, and lifts a hand to wave around at his fellows - and just as fast slaps it back down on that foreward neckridge, not quite ready to go one-handed. "We're up," he breathes.

Cantaneth doesn't move, but the rumble in his chest-barrel is an encouraging one as J'len carefully places his left foot up on the bronze's left foreleg, leans forward and reaches up for the last neckridge. "Ok... are you watching?" The remark is made in a far-away voice and clearly isn't meant for his lifemate or anyone else present. But right after he breaths the words, he's up and over in a single, smooth motion. He swings his leading foot forward, not back as with a runner, to avoid the wingjoint and spar, and then he's sitting between the last neckridge and the first backridge. He holds a hand out to calm Cantaneth as the bronze starts to raise his head then stops again. "Slowly. Carefully. Wait until we're told it's alright."

M'tri is seducing J'len?

2006-08-14T02:23:19Z

Central Bowl
A stony field is the center of this great caldera, the size of which is unmatched at any other Weyr--for the whole complement of all the wings at Telgar could rest comfortably within its towering cliffs. Shaped in a perfect oval, the rock walls seem ideal for keeping the usual chill winds stirring about. The ground is mostly made of pebbles and rocks, some hued the milky shades of old quartz, though there are patches where softer dirt and even trees sprout up from the ground. To the south, the bowl opens onto the living caverns and the Weyrleaders' quarters; the immense entrance to the Hatching Grounds lies to the northwest. Heading southwest will lead one back out into the rocky mountain ranges around Telgar's protective walls. Dragons may be seen, relaxing or fresh from feeding, to the north, as well as the soft lapping sounds of Telgar's lake touching the sandy shore. The Weyrling Barracks, always aflutter with activity, are to the direct west. If you're looking for the 'dutypair' to take you to an outweyr destination, they can be found here. The meadow near the lake is strewn with wild flowers, like little stars of pink, yellow, and white. The ground by the the barracks is quite muddy.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Daikoth
PLAYERS: Amarie Claret M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Weyrling Barracks Southern Bowl Lake Shore Hatching Cavern Feeding Grounds Runner Pasture Weyr Entrance

Avrieth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Avrieth has arrived.

Now M'tri is just shocked. Shocked, baffled, bewildered, nonplussed...every word that can describe any form of nonreaction. He doesn't even blink. For a few moments, he stares...and stares...and then has to rub his eyes. "Amarie...I beg to differ. If I had my way--" he breaks off. "That misconstruity can be cleared up if you ask around."

Amarie looks confused by M'tri as much as he is shocked by her. "Then what are yout rying to say?" She asks. "You tell me not to break him, then you say you're watching out for me." She gives the two contradictory terms, "And finally you say you've been lusting after him. What am I supposed to believe M'tri?" What a thing to walk in on. She's near the lake shore with M'tri.

Claret ambles along cheerfully enough, Avrieth preceding her as they head toward the lake. Spotting Amarie and M'tri close by her path, she gives them an enthusiastic wave. "Hullo! I'm awfully glad you're still here, Am, it would have been rotten if you had stayed for just one night, and..." Trailing off she looks from one to the other, wrinkling her brow in puzzlement. "Say. What's going on?"

"I don't want either of you hurt, and I /haven't/ been lusting after him. I was being snarky. The only person I'm lusting after, save Kassima, is --" M'tri breaks off, turning to face Claret with a wave and a smaile, both rather stiff. "Hi, Claret." Daikoth, from where he's sunning in the center of the bowl with a group of other weyrlings lifts his head and warbles his own greeting to Avrieth.

"Hello Claret, M'tri is apparently seducing J'len," Amarie informs the girl. Of course a moment later she says, "I'm not sure if I should believe him though because he's acting an awful lot like Eugenian telling one of his stories." And to M'tri she says, "Neither of us will be hurt. Honest."

The spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The breeze picks up, sending a few leaves skittering across the bowl floor.

Avrieth returns Daikoth's warble of greeting with one of her own, turning herself around to get a better look at the people accompanying the dragonet. Brows drawn together still, Claret asks, "Wasn't it the other way around? Anyway, I wouldn't take much store by it, because that's the way M'tri is about everything, isn't he? I expect he's only making it up."

"You women are hopeless." M'tri drops back against one of the stone walls in exasperation, ducking his hat over his eyes in utter embarassment. "Absolutely hopeless."

"I am not hopeless," Amarie informs M'tri. "I'm hopeful." She makes a distinct difference in her voice to let him know there is one. "I actually did go home Claret," she lets the girl know. "But I came back to discuss something with M'tri that he said to me the last time I was here."

Claret eyes M'tri with interest. "Hopeless? I don't see how, but that's all right. You look a bit out of sorts, so I'm sure you'd think that sort of thing. Did you really?" she asks, turning her gaze to Amarie. "Well, it's nice that you've come back, then. Did M'tri say something dreadful?"

"Yep, it was all my fault, I'm sorry, I'm terrible." Daikoth apparently doesn't like /that/ statement, and the look he turns upon the two women is far from loving. He hefts up to his feet, snorting and straining his neck foward to warble reassuringly. "I know, /you/ aren't allowed to think me terrible," M'tri tells the blue crankily.

"I don't think you're terrible M'tri," Amarie promises, "Although you do worry me." She reaches up to brush some hair back off her forehead. "With all these stories, I'm worried that Eugenian was a bad influence on you while he was here." And to Claret she says, "Oh by the way, he's fine. Eugenian that is. I told him you asked about him. I daresay I got some good teasing out of it." She grins.

"I don't think you're terrible either," Claret agrees, for what's it worth, though her attention is soon drawn from that thought. "Are you really telling more stories than you used to, M'tri? That's marvelous." Wrinkling her nose, she asks Amarie, "Teasing? But why? Oh, well, I'm glad he's fine, anyway."

"Nope, I'm just helping Amarie figure out who's making the stories up." M'tri's exasperation doesn't fail. "She was waiting for me to proclaim my neverending love for J'len, which i Just can't do, because though he is a very good person, I am quite sure I don't swing that way. Not to mention, I didn't meet your brother long."

Amarie giggles. A hint of a smile comes back to her face. "M'tri you're too much," she reaches out to lightly try to punch him on the arm. "I suppose that's why I'll stop trying to figure you out right now." She turns to both of them and says, "Have either of you seen J'len today?"

Avrieth trundles a few steps to settle herself down behind Claret, eyes whirling with interest as she watches. Leaning back against the green, Claret shrugs away her puzzlement. "No point ever trying to figure anyone out, especially people that act oddly. Well, I see him just about every day, actually. Today included. Don't know what he's up to now, though."

"Not lately," M'tri offers, ever so unhelpfully. He shrugs, saying, "We've yet to have a romantic interlude today." Rakish grinning follows, and he says, "I'm sure you'll find him somewhere 'round here."

Amarie tosses M'tri a look that says he's pushing his luck. "Well if you'll excuse me," she nods to them both. "Meara said she wanted to see me before I left today." She waves to the two weyrlings and heads off for the weyr.

Amarie has left.

Claret wriggles her fingers in a little wave for the departing Amarie. "See you later!" she calls, biting her lip on a grin at M'tri's comment. "Did she really believe what was said the other night?" she asks curiously.

The spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The wind dies down until only a calm breeze blows now and then.

"Yes. I think. She was very worried," he offers. Subject change! "So, I haven't talked to you lately--probably spending too much time doing push-ups. Is your dragon as curious as you are?"

"Oh dear," Claret replies. "I expect these things do get a bit surprising. D'you know, I think she's more curious than I am!" Reaching a hand up to give Avrieth an affectionate pat, Claret informs M'tri, "She just sits there watching everything, all the time, and then she tells me about it. And then of course, she forgets, so every time she sees something she's just as curious over it. I feel as though I'll know everything that happens in the weyr by the time a turn is out. Though, of course, not really," she allows.

"Oh, I don't know if that's possible. But good show, Avrieth. Talk incessantly, give her a taste of it." He winks at the dragonet, nodding sagely. "Yes, Daikoth forgets too. But I think we're all pretty far from knowing everything. 'Cept Roberta, who, with a dragon, can gossip to the point of being worse than any natural force could be."

Claret pulls a face at M'tri, declaring with only partially false sincerity, "Long stories are very interesting. And I don't talk -incessantly-. I've got heaps of other things to do, too. Say, d'you think Roberta's going to keep gossiping for forever?"

Amarie has arrived.

Eugenian has arrived.

Amarie comes back towards the central bowl. She hasn't found Meara, but she's tagging along her brother behind her, so she did find /someone/ of interest. Particularly she's saying, "She'll be so happy to see you .. honest." Encouraging him.

"I think Roberta's getting her story straight lately. But...no." He ruffles at the hair around his collar, saying, "She's not as bad as I thought she was."

Claret leans against Avrieth, ducking her chin in a brisk nod to M'tri. "It could be worse, I think, though I never did pay much attention. I don't think she ever gossiped about me." Avrieth gives a low warble as she notices Amarie and Eugenian approaching, and shifting her gaze to follow Avrieth's attention, Claret waves.

Eugenian shuffles after Amarie, his mouth twisted in a doubtful sort of expression. "Look, I was trying to take care of some...things." He looks a tad defensive in responce to the encouragement. He pauses when he spies the weyrlings, though, threatening to cease his foreward momentum.

Amarie rolls her eyes, "What things? You always have /things/ to do but nobody ever sees you do them," she says to Eugenian. She lifts a hand to wave at Claret and M'tri again with a "Look who I found!" and pointing at her brother. Yes, let's make a spectacle of Eugenian shall we?

"Oh hey. It's him!" M'tri makes it sound like they've been searching for him for days and simply had no luck. "Lookit that...that's Euginian, Dai, he's Amarie's brother." Daikoth turns to survey, eyes whirling gently as he croons a greeting for the returning Amarie and new Eugenian.

Niella comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Niella has arrived.

"Hullo!" Claret greets brightly, giving both an enthusiastic smile. "It's ever so nice of you to come and visit again, Eugenian. I haven't seen you in ages. Oh, and this is Avrieth," she adds, jerking a thumb up toward the dragonet behind her.

Cantaneth comes out of the weyrling barracks.
Cantaneth has arrived.

J'len comes out of the weyrling barracks.
J'len has arrived.

Eugenian shoots Amarie a cross look, "I do have things to do! Don't even imply that I'm making it up. I made connections here. I had things to check up on. Deals to work on....but, oh!" He realizes that he's not going to escape notice, so he nods to the weyrlings, "Ah yes, hello, hello. Nice to see you all again. And your lifemates...much bigger up close than I recall seeing them the last time." Whatever crossness he had is gone, and his smile is smooth and almost borderline cheerful.

Niella wanders through, looking stricken to be where she is. She hurries through, head down, not looking to the right or to the left. Busy busy. yep. Try not to think about it.

Amarie is standing with her brother near M'tri and Claret. She rolls her eyes at something Eugenian says and then counters with, "That's because you're just some hotshot dealmaker from Bitra right Eugenian?" She's got a smile on her face though. She does get distracted as a girl walks through with her head down. "Hello? Is that Niella there?" Looking a bit surprised. "Niella is that you?"

The spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The cloud cover increases until the sky is partially cloudy. The breeze grows into a definite wind and a few people out in the bowl start to hide their faces from it.

Daikoth twists his neck around as movement flickers from the corner of his eye, following Niella with his head lazily bobbing at the end of his neck as though he might fall into slumber, though he's alert enough. "Ahm..." M'tri doesn't move away from where he's leaned against the wall, but he lifts his hat to lean out and get a good view. "Yup, that's Niella. Don't know what she's doing though. She looks sort of...piquey.."

Avrieth rustles her wings with a plaintive croon, apparently quite interested in hearing an introduction similar to the one Daikoth got. "Well, that's Amarie, I already told you who she was, and that's her brother and--Another? No there's just..." Looking around for the third person Avrieth mentioned, Claret espies Niella, and sends her a wave, though in her present state it seems as though she might not take notice. "Dealmaker from Bitra? Really? That must be terribly interesting."

Eugenian opens his mouth, then closes it. He smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners as he tilts his head towards Amarie, "Oh, Am, don't be silly. You know I'm not a dealmaker from Bitra. I'm from Keroon, same as you. I'm just a Keroon dealmaker." He doesn't really approach the weyrlings, standing back a bit, but he does look on curiously. "Hmm. So...alright, come clean, what's it like? The dragon and all that? And are you working harder than spit-canines at a gather?"

Niella sighs and sniffles, and shuffles through. Hearing her name called, she turns, looking stricken. "Yes, Ma'am?" she replies to Amarie, looking around with a deep breath. She hasn't so much as looked at a single one of the dragnotes.

M'tri looks at Amarie, mouthing 'ma'am' with all confusion. It, apparently, hasn't dawned on him to call her ma'am, even though it'd probably be correct. Hrmm...there's something to ponder. Eugenian gets a grin. "It's nice, to say the least."

Cantaneth emerges from the semi-darkness of the barracks entrance, fanning his wings once he's out in the sunlight and breeze. Stretching his neck and tail out to match, his posture is nearly identical to the one J'len strikes when he emerges a few paces behind the bronze. In near unison, they both take in a long breath and release it slowly. "Fresh air. No more mucking for me today!" Cantaneth leads the way further into the bowl, keeping his wings spread out to catch the wind as they walk together. Seeing the group gathered, J'len waves broadly and the pair heads that way.

"Hi Niella!" Amarie says quite cheerfully to the girl. "My you look really different," She tilts her head, "What have you been doing with yourself these past three months? I had thought you went home?" She smiles, "But I guess you must have stayed to help out here!"

Claret completely misses all the implications of calling Amarie ma'am, though by rules, it is indeed necessary, instead just looking curiously at Niella. She doesn't ask any questions of her own, however, instead wrinkling her nose in thought. "Well, I never particularly thought of myself as a canine on a spit, but I do suppose we are working that hard." As Avrieth bugles a welcome to Cantaneth, Claret looks over in that direction with another wave.

J'len has disconnected.
Cantaneth has left.

Eugenian tilts his head, still looking on curiously. "I always heard weyrlinghood was a very busy thing." He glances towards Amarie again, then back towards the dragons, looking curious. "What are they like? Warmth and sunshine like little kids, or ups and downs like crazy teenagers?" Not that he would know anything about crazy teenagers. Oh no. Not him.

Niella mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "Avoiding all of you". She waits for the commands she expects to get. "If there's something I can do for you, then tell me. Otherwise I'll go back to doing whatever everyone tells me to do." She looks at Eugenian, as if her heart is being torn out. She shiver, sand shakes her head.

"Well, I'm not one to give commands. Not unless you come to Beastcraft Hall that is," Amarie says, oblivious to Niella's impending doom glumness. "If you come there then perhaps I might give you an order or two. Or else you can order me about as Headwoman Kaye has and - oh! J'len!" Amarie lifts a hand and waves, distracted by his appearance with Cantaneth.

One of M'tri's eyebrows shoots it's way skywards, not half as distracted by J'len or oblivious to Niella. "Is everything okay, Niella?" he asks quietly, maybe not /entirely/ empathetic, but trying, surely.

Claret regards Niella hesitantly, voicing an, "Are you feeling quite all right?" before turning in Eugenian's direction to answer his question. "More like warmth and sunshine and curiosity and questions and demands," Claret lists off rapidly. "And suggestions. That's Avrieth, anyway. I bet some are moody."

Eugenian mmms, considering this information thoughtfully. "I see..." He files it away for future use. And he adds, just so it's clear, "And Amarie's been awfully bossy indeed since they gave her that knot." He snifs a bit, perhaps mildly grumpy over the matter.

Niella smiles, and since no one has anything for her to do, begins to shuffle off. "I'm fine, thanks" she responds to Claret. "I don't want to intrude on the happiness of everyone here"

Amarie grins at Eugenian and says, "They all heard about my promotion in the letters I sent them. Claret even wrote me back, remember?" She eyes her brother with /meaning/ in her eyes. Yeah someone might be trying to tease their brother. "From what I've read from them, it is very hard work. It took J'len at least several months to find time to write to me because Cantaneth was growing so much."

M'tri's eyebrows don't lower at Niella's declaration; he watches her leave with only a shake of the head. "It's only a lot because they can't hunt, or dispose of themselves, or oil themselves, or be away from us without panicking." M'tri says this with a fond look to Daikoth, and waves to J'len. "It's like having a job to do and having to take care of a baby all the time."

"D'you like being bossy?" Claret inquires curiously. "I think it would be fun to try for a few days, though I'm not sure how long I would like it. It -is- dreadfully difficult to find the time to sit down and write. An extra big baby," she echoes M'tri. "So an extra lot of work." Waving after Niella, she points out, "Well, you know, we're even almost complaining, so I don't think you'd be upsetting anyone."

Eugenian shoots a briefly annoyed glance at Amarie, which turns to curious for Niella as he glances after her. Then he nods slowly, "Like having a job and a baby. Curious. Sounds complicated. No wonder you're trapped in those barracks until they get a little older."

Niella shuffles off
Niella walks south.
Niella has left.

"Actually I'm not bossy at all," Amarie quickly explains to Claret. "I wish I was bossy. But no, I get bossed around by Headwoman Kaye. And she's been trying to get the floors scrubbed two times a day because of all the mud people keep tracking into the Hall."

The spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The cloud cover lessens until the sky is clear. The wind lessens until it's only a light breeze that blows through the bowl.

"No wonder, indeed," M'tri agrees. "Haa, you big baby?" Daikoth rumbles, looking indignant at being called a baby, but accepting the accompanying eyeridge scratch serenely enough. He spreads his wings, stretching them as far as he can and opening his mouth wide in what appears a yawn, but earns an irked look from his rider. "Now? Fine..." M'tri lowers his hand and stuffs both in his pockets. "See? I prove my point. 'I'm hungry, now.'" No doubt words from his dragon. "It was good seeing you, Euginian, Amarie," he nods briskly to the first, winks at the second and then waves to Claret before preceding Daikoth in the general direction towards the entrance.

M'tri walks through the entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.
M'tri has left.

Daikoth enters through the big entrance into the Weyrling Barracks.
Daikoth has left.

Claret raises a hand to wave after M'tri, murmuring, "Oh, shh, you'll get yours later," to Avrieth, who gives another plaintive croon. "Twice a day? Every single floor? I should feel flooded if I had to do that sort of thing. Maybe you should make people take their boots off." Turning her attention to Eugenian, her mouth quirks. "I think the most complicated part is communicating. Probably best to be confined, anyway, because Av, at least, still gets tired."

Eugenian holds up his hands, quick to way lay any guilt, "None of my mud!" But quick to leave that topic behind, he regards the young green curiously, "You find communicating difficult? Reallyl? Can you clarify that at all?"

"We actually have started to do that." Amarie nods at Claret. "Kaye's talking about how to order slippers from Weaver Hall for next spring so they won't have to walk around in their socks." SHe peers between her brother and Claret and then steps back to let him get in closer to the weyrling.

Claret blinks, an expression of skepticism flitting across her face for a moment. "Really? You must have had special boots, or something, not to pick up mud if everyone else did. It's kind of funny to think of, you know, a whole Hall walking around in slippers." Running a hand thoughtfully down Avrieth's shoulder, Claret remarks, "Well, you know, it's a bit challenging to get used to someone else in your head. And how they think, and so forth. And not feeling hungry when she's hungry, or sleepy when she's sleepy."

Eugenian tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. Perhaps he chooses to ignore the topic of boots on purpose. "Someone else in your head....Curious. So you can't tell when you're hungry, and when she's hungry. That sounds very confusing. Is she very demanding then? Or does she just give you a nudge? And.." He pauses and wonders, "When was the last time you ate?" He glances towards Amarie, wondering, "Does someone have that job, you think? Making sure the weyrlings eat and sleep?"

"Yes his name is I'sai," Amarie tells Eugenian. "It's part of his job as the weyrlingmaster." She grins at Claret asking, "Am I right?"

Claret tilts her head to the side, puzzled at all the questions. "Well, I can tell, kind of, but it's a bit difficult, even now. It's when she's asleep that I feel particularly odd. She's not terribly demanding, which is to say, she just suggests what she wants, or what she thinks I should do, all the time. Sometimes forcefully, but I guess I would too if I were starved. And... I had lunch?" she suggests, before grinning toward Amarie. "Him and the others. The Assistant Weyrlingmasters, that is, more or less."

I'sai has arrived.

I'sai takes this moment to saunter out from the weyrling barracks, without more than a trace of a limp; looking up at the sky, he mutters something to the bluerider who accompanies him, a thin-faced man wearing an assistant's knot and a frown, who then starts jogging towards the main cavern.

Eugenian mmms, inhaling through his nose as he thinks. "Interesting...Ah on, yes. Right. Of course that's what Weyrlingmasters and their staff is for. How silly of me..." He confesses after a moment, "I've never seen one so young before. Dragon, that is. I usually see them when they're all grown."

J'len has connected.
Cantaneth has arrived.

J'len grins as Cantaneth arrives from amusing himself elsewhere.

"Aren't they little compared to the adult dragons?" Amarie agrees with Eugenian. She grins at him. "You should see J'len's dragon though. He's gotten much bigger than he was at the hatching." She nods at Avrieth, "Even she is alot bigger now. I know you have to go through alot of oil to keep up with her don't you Claret?"

"Oh, lots," Claret agrees fervently with Amarie. "And she's only a bit more than half the size of Cantaneth and Volath, even. But she still wants lots of oil. I guess you wouldn't see young dragons, anyway, if you weren't at a weyr, since we're not allowed to leave. Not that we even -could-." Intent on her conversation, she doesn't notice I'sai or the assistant with him until Avrieth's croon points them out, and she abruptly raises her hand for a salute.

Cantaneth emerges from the semi-darkness of the barracks entrance, fanning his wings once he's out in the sunlight and breeze. Stretching his neck and tail out to match, his posture is nearly identical to the one J'len strikes when he emerges a few paces behind the bronze. In near unison, they both take in a long breath and release it slowly. "Fresh air. No more mucking for me today!" Cantaneth leads the way further into the bowl, keeping his wings spread out to catch the wind as they walk together. Seeing the group gathered, J'len waves and the pair heads that way. As they approach, he salutes crisply to I'sai, "Good evening, Weyrlingmaster." He smiles broadly to Amarie and Claret while Cantaneth croons a greeting to Avrieth.

Eugenian looks even more curious as he seems to notice for the first time that the young dragon seems to be reconizing others before her lifemate. He mmms. "I have a million questions...there just isn't enough time to get to them all." He glances at Amarie again, wondering, "J'len's dragon is already that much bigger than the others? Hmm. I wonder ... I suppose they grow at different rates, like people do.."

I'sai's attention shifts to Avrieth and her weyrling, catching that salute - "Evening, Claret." - "Amarie," He gives the young man with them a swiftly assessing look before adding, "Greetings to you as well." More to the weyrling, make that -weyrlings- although he includes them all, "Additional practice leather should be here shortly. As well as a few awls to replace those that've gone missing; might've rolled into a couch or something. Here's hoping not eaten; nobody wants to root through the muck."

Amarie waves to J'len and greets, "Good evening J'len. Good evening Weyrlingmaster," she smiles at I'sai properly. "This is my brother Eugenian. Did you meet him when he came to visit before?" she introduces her brother to I'sai. I'sai's words about awls, rooting through muck as well as missing things gets a blank look. She doesn't know anything about what he just said.

"Well met," I'sai says, with a longer glance between the apparent siblings; he pushes up his sleeves and then extends his hand, palm up. "Different rates, aye, and often fits and spurts at that. Nothing like seeing a dragon look as though he's going to be huge, only then he just _stops_ and turns out a runt." He grins, slantwise, sharp. "And you do look half-familiar; but meeting, no, don't think so."

Avrieth returns Cantaneth's welcoming croon, while Claret returns J'len's wave. "Evening, sir. I mean, Weyrlingmaster," she corrects with a nod. "I'm not entirely sure, because I don't measure every day or anything," Claret informs Eugenian wryly, "But I guess so. And anyway, they'll all be much different sizes in the end, I guess. Maybe Avrieth will be small. Well, of course she'll be a smaller, but..." Trailing off, she looks back at Avrieth with a small smile. "No, you're perfectly fine."

Eugenian turns almost reluctantly to return the greeting when he's introduced, and crosses palms with the man. He ahs, "Weyrlingmaster, yes. Of course. Well met! I hear you're doing a splendid job, Sir. Pleasure to meet you. Yes, indeed...Really, it's very interesting to see them at this stage. I knew I should have stayed on.." He pauses, and adds, "Not that I don't love life at the hall, of course, but I don't have exposure to these sorts of things there." And another pause and he adds, "And, Am, don't go telling da I said that, alright?"

The spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The wind lessens until it's only a light breeze that blows through the bowl.

I'sai takes a moment to assure Claret, "She's good. And it's not just length, or even height; right now she's looking pretty sleek, not one of the rawboned, large-barreled types. So better aerodynamics, even if she hasn't gotten the raw power." And then he deals with Eugenian, his tone somewhat dry at first; "Glad to hear it. There're a lot of changes they're going through." Pale eyes regard the lad all over again, and then he says abruptly, "Y'know, you could come back. If you wanted; for a trial, maybe. If you could keep us in the gear we need to have. Didn't 'prentice, did you?"

Amarie blinks. "Gear?" She asks, not understanding what I'sai is talking about. She glances between himself and Eugenian.

J'len, as usual, finds it difficult to keep a straight face around Eugenian. Although whether he's leaning towards humor or disgust is anyone's guess. Even his at times. As for the question the lad had asked about Cantaneth... well, he's near enough for him to see for himself. "A new batch of leather will be good, sir. I'm afraid I've torn a lot of pieces learning now to space the stitches properly." He flexes his fingers, shrugging at how clumsy he can be at some things. Cantaneth settles onto his haunches next to his rider, fanning his wings out to catch the breeze.

Above, Lysseth flies over from the south end of the bowl.
Lysseth backwings for a landing.
Lysseth has arrived.

Claret nods assuredly at Avrieth. "There, you see? You're nicer this way." Nodding toward Eugenian, Claret adds, "Or if you didn't want to stay, though I think that'd be lovely, you could still come and visit, right? More frequently, I mean." Nodding in time with Avrieth's croon, Claret murmurs, "All right, we'll go. I'm going to get food, and she's going to get oil, before coming out again," Claret supplies, leaning forward so that Avrieth can move without knocking her over. "It was nice to see you again, Amarie, and awfully nice to see you again Eugenian. I do hope you come by again!" Sending a wave to the others and a salute to I'sai, she follows Avrieth back to the barracks.

Dragon> Cantaneth bespoke Avrieth with << My rider is told they may ride on us soon. But not in the sky yet. >>

Avrieth> I bespoke Cantaneth with << My rider did not know that, I do not think. I hope she will fit on me! >>

Eugenian listens to the chatter, curiosity obvious. He pauses, doing a doubletake at I'sai, "What? Come back?" He furrows his brows, the concept obviously striking him as odd. But then, did someone just offer him a job? He looks even more wary of that. "But no, no..I didn't apprentice. I'm just fortunate that Amarie lets me tag along after her." And he turns to see Claret and Avrieth leaving and he ohs, "Good luck with the training and all that, Claret!" He's struggling with some seriously conflicting emotions at the moment, his expression clearly showing it.

Dragon> Cantaneth bespoke Avrieth with << You are well grown. You and she are made for each other. >>

T'bay has connected.

Yselle enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
Yselle has arrived.

TGW-Bowl>> Amarie sweeps her hair back off her forehead, pushing it back. It falls back into place a moment later as she calls out, "Good night Claret!" waving at the young girl. To I'sai she says, "Eugenian hasn't apprenticed anywhere as of yet and he's getting of an age where it'd be too late to do so."

TGW-Bowl>> Lysseth doesn't fly down so much as she glides, her wings cutting a near-silent path through the air until physics require her to backwing into a reasonably delicate landing. On her neck, Kassi gives the green hide an appreciative thump and extricates herself from the straps, waiting until she's en route--cautiously--to the ground to greet the Bowl with a cheerful, "G'day, g'deve, whatever you'd call it, all."

TGW-Bowl>> Kassima slides down from Lysseth's neckridges to land beside her with ease. Lysseth cocks her head at her rider, rumbling quietly as Kassi gives her eyeridges a grateful scratching.

TGW-Bowl>> Kassima has arrived.

Lanisa mutters under her breath, "Oh yes it can be." This as she oils Tisiath all the more. "She is? No. I didn't know she was. She wrote me you know. I've not written back yet though, to busy with himself here." Much safer subject.

Spats... Infidelity... Insanity...

2006-08-08T03:21:53Z

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass has a clean green color and is tender with spring. The first water lilies on the pond are blooming in yellow and white, and pink, yellow, and white wildflowers scatter the field. The white climbs even into the trees, with blowing petals amid the new green leaves. The herb garden, still mostly cut back for the winter, is hemmed about with crocuses. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Daikoth Cantaneth Lysseth
PLAYERS: Kassima J'len Claret (Carlile) M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

M'tri seems to debate and make a verdict that kissing Kassi's boots is a far way to go since he really hasn't done anything wrong. Instead, he clings to her ankles, laughing into one of her pantlegs so hard he's crying. "I wasn't laughing, it wasn't me. It was all his fault, he promised me gold and you /know/ how Daikoth wants shiny things and...and....and....HOLD ME!" M'tri sobs again, just as well as she is, his shoulders rocking with laughter. Daikoth is bewildered as anything, just...lost. He croons at the tears, but can't /quite/ understand why there's laughter at the same time, and so settles for rustling his wings unsurely.

Kassima, seated on a rock with her stick kept near to hand, and with such an expression that she's clearly trying to keep from laughing aloud, has M'tri kneeling in front of her and begging forgiveness. What a tableau to walk in on. "Oh, m'flower," she sighs, and sets a hand on his head, the closest she can come to holding him given their positions. "I suppose--*suppose*--I can forgive you, if'n you swear never t'do it again without one, inviting me, and two, giving me a cut of the gold. I mean, *really*!" Lysseth thrums a reassuring note to both confused young dragons, though one that itself brims with laughter.

Volath lumbers in from the central bowl.
Volath has arrived.

V'lano heads over from the central bowl.
V'lano has arrived.

M'tri makes a whole big show of doing the lip-sucky-thing, the one that little kids who have just gotten a boxing do; his lower lip trembling, he breaths shallowly, wiping his arm across his eyes, interspersing little 'hehe's into the mix of thespian crying. "I promise," he assures vehemently, rocking back onto his heels, over balancing, and falling to his rump, trying not to giggle. Even if it is /all that funny/.

Cantaneth settles down, letting J'len get the undersides of his wingsails with a rag dipped in the oil cask. His eyes whirling begins to slow down and the colors return from alarmed yellows to more content greens. "You two are just... well you're just... just." And that's all the eloquence he's got left in him at the moment and a freshly washed bronze that needs a good oiling before he decides to do something messy.

Claret trundles along to the shore with a cheery expression on her face, heading straight for the water. Avrieth follows at a sedate pace, wings rustling as she looks from dragon to person with great interest. Her step is only arrested when she takes in the puzzling scene, and wrinkling her nose she inspects Kassima and M'tri for a moment. "I say, have you been fighting again? Oh!" Remembering abruptly what her vague confusion helped her to forget, she gives Kassima a crisp salute. "Evening, ma'am. I mean, Greenrider. And everybody else," she adds, dropping that hand for a wave.

"*We* two," Kassi protests, though weakly because she's really, really having a hard time not laughing now, to the point that her shoulders are shaking with it. "*You* two are far the more disturbing. I can't believe you seduced m'wife, J'len!" She holds the back of her right hand to her forehead--then gives it up, and bends her head to laugh and laugh in silence at M'tri's rump-fall. "By all the stars in all the skies on all the worlds there be, I have *never*... oh, evening, Claret! And Avrieth. I'm afraid we have. M'tri got himself seduced by J'len. And he and I'sai have been sighing at each other. And there was something with a hat." Though she starts to wince at the M-word, the correction clears it; she returns the salute amiably. "Greenrider or Wingleader's fine. Given givens, they *might* even let you use m'name, but I'm honestly nay sure." She's seated on a tall grey rock by the Lake, her dragon freshly oiled and gleaming at her back. The green rumbles a pleasant enough and mellow greeting to the new arrivals.

Volath precedes his rider, arching neck upward as he crosses the last stony paces of the bowl and emerges onto the softer footing of the lakeshore. The lifting of his head allows him improved vision, or at least he might think as much, of the situation presented, and as that situation includes Metri on the ground, the bronze's attention momentarily sticks there. V'lano rounds the dragonet's form as soon as his pace is halted, an oil-shiny hand sliding over Volath's wingspar and foreshoulder, stopping at the lowest curve of throat while the youth's dark eyes widen at the sight his dragon's called his attention to. Overheard tidbits of the last end of Kassima's summary are echoed, dumbfounded: "By... J'len? I'sai... sighing?" He turns his attention to the greenrider, fumbling a salute as Volath shifts his in turn to Lysseth, rumbling a very softspoken, almost shy reply. "Wingleader."

Daikoth, at this point, is having a sharding difficult time. He's been abandoned, for one, mid-oiling, for his rider to go and laugh and cry with that absolutely /evil/ green's rider. For that is what she is, until his neglect is ended. The shame. His neglect is duly noted in a mopey shuffle, but Trii waves, saying, "Oh...oh, I can't...I can't breath Daikoth, please...give me a ... hehehehe... give me a moment." Sounding almost drunken, M'tri waves his hand up into the air, making an arch and then dropping it back as he calls, "Claret! V'lano! H'ro!"

"Oh yes, Wingleader," Claret corrects, though she doesn't look plussed over the mistake. "I'm still absolutely dreadful at that, even after a few months." Her glance wavering to M'tri, she shakes her head. "Seduced by J'len? Again? That is to say, somebody else? I must say, I don't think you're entirely a very good wife. No wonder you were fighting. It seems well enough that you're making up, though. Oh, hullo, V'lano!" Claret greets, turning to give him a smile as Avrieth's croon alerts her to his presence behind her. Avrieth rumbles a tiny greeting of her own, to all the dragons present before picking her way around Claret and towards the water.

Dragon> Volath and Avrieth sense that Daikoth's tone is all bright gold, spires and globes of it, a winding river of extra confidence flowing through his words. << Lysseth's rider, >> he feels the need to inform the new arrivals, if only to make sure they are not /too/ confused, << has broken mine. But they are only playing, I am told. >>

Kassima looks over towards those presences to which Lysseth has alerted her, eyes gleaming in moonlight and a grin still curving her mouth; she explains, oh-so-grave, "He has a thing for bronzeriders, 'twould seem. You might want t'watch out." The grin softens to a smile as she returns the salute, briskly. "Weyrling," she returns. "Mentee. G'deve t'you as well. Either's fine, Claret; either's valid, just never-never-never that other. The M-other. Isn't he atrocious?" The he in question apparently being M'tri. "But Avrieth looks well. As does Volath. I'm well-pleased t'see it. Poor M'tri--mayhaps I should leave off teasing so you can attend your dragon?" Not that this stops her from attempting a poke at his hat, as though to skew it. Lysseth, evil green though she may be, sends a sympathetic warble towards the young blue that nearly reaches a croon.

"Yes, h'lo indeed," V'lano replies for M'tri's benefit, then extends the greeting with a wave to the greenriding weyrling who came to the lake ahead of himself and Volath. The latter, finished with his quiet consideration of the much larger Lysseth and her greeting, stretches momentarily, spanning out luxurious wings and rolling his neck one way, then the other before strolling lakeward without so much as V'lano's say-me-so. "Mentee?" A blink toward Kassima, then a scanned glance at Claret, one dark brow furrowed low over his deep eyes, the other crooked skyward, wrinkling his brow.

Cantaneth bugles a greeting to Volath and Avrieth as he sits on his haunches with tail stretched out behind him for balance to allow J'len access to his underside with the oily towel. J'len peers out from underneath the bronze's wing and waves over to the arriving pair, "V'lano, Claret, hello! Please, stay a while!" His face is red from laughter, and he chokes back a return of the guffaws of before as he catches sight of M'tri and Kassima again. "You'd better listen to her, and to Daikoth, M'tri. Your blue looks like he might take matters into his own control." For his part, Cantaneth joins Lysseth in warbling to Daikoth, but the bronze seems a bit more mischevous.

Dragon> Daikoth and Avrieth sense that Volath's light-dappled darkness responds, luxuriant while stretching. << Are you certain he is broken? >> A pause, as if the possibility is being deeply considered. << My V'lano seems... not upset enough, for that. >>

"I'll have you know," M'tri says to Claret, "that I've never strayed to J'len 'fore this. And this was because he is a debonair bronzer, even moreso than I'sai -- so I hear -- and I could not resist the temptation." However, Cantaneth and (especially) Lysseth's sympathy for Daikoth makes the trickster roll over and crawl back to his blue. Now he's begging mercy and forgiveness from the blue, sprawled across his forepaws, begging, pleading, "Please Daikoth, don't eat me! It was all that evil greenrider's fault!" A look at Kassi that's sly, but Daikoth still makes to pretend to bite his rider's head off. It doesn't work, perhaps because he actually completely misses a head, but M'tri bows and skitters, "Oh, great one, no need for firing me, drastic measures, those." He hustles back to his oil vat, returning to Daikoth's oiling. At Volath's stretching, Daikoth is unable to help but show off his own wings, spreading them out in a graceful stretch, the small bit of light remaining flashing through them. It's after a while that M'tri demands, "Where? Here?" - "Here? No...I could have..." - "Almost got it...no...sit still!" And Daikoth isn't even moving.

Claret gives M'tri another forlorn shake of the head. "That's too bad, M'tri. You really ought to have better manners. I meant, not that you let J'len seduce you before, but that you let others seduce you. Haven't you? I distinctly remember such discussions on a few occasions. Well, at least he's not eating them anyway, I think that'd be far worse." Ducking her chin in a nod she agrees, "Right. Absolutely never ever the m-other. Avrieth is looking w--Ooh!" she breaks off as Avrieth splashes into the water, similarly without leave. "I expect that is getting a bit chilly now," she concludes ruefully, regarding the lake. As Avrieth wades in deeper, managing still to spare a watchful gaze for the antics behind her, Claret looks at J'len curiously. "You're not choking, are you? You seem a bit stuffed up."

Lysseth would seem to take an interest in young dragons, as both Volath and Avrieth in turn win moments of her curious regard; but she is content to stay on the shore, cleaned, oiled, and gleaming. Her rider is not quite so polished--a side-effect of having provided that cleaning and oiling. "Ach, stars, did I spoil it?" she asks with some consternation. "I must have done. Aye, 'tis so. I'sai's assigned you and Claret t'me as mentees this cycle, a choice which honors me." On a less serious note, she informs Daikoth, "I do beg t'differ. M'tri might be t'blame, and J'len, and I'sai, and who knows how many others, but I? Am entirely innocent. Innocence incarnate. As you do know, M'tri--and see! Claret has the right of it. Thankee, Claret." She throws the green Weyrling a broad smile. "You understand this sort of thing better than he, methinks."

Avrieth> Daikoth and Volath sense that Avrieth replies, her tone layered lightly with confusion. "Broken? Is he really broken?" A pause is taken while she turns to inspect the rider in question. "Does he look different than this morning? I can't remember."

"Mentees," V'lano repeats. Perhaps it's the noun structure he stuck on, for after a moment he blinks, his eyebrows level, and he bolts a half-step toward the wingleader and the blueriding Weyrling. "You're our - " This thought, he cuts off, attempting something more stoic by way of response. "Thank you, Wingleader," he settles for, then flicks startled attention toward the lapping shore where, a few paces aside from the spot where Avrieth entered, Volath is making trial of the potential bath-water with one outstretched forelimb. Talons part the ripples and plunge in, one wing stretching wider than the other to offer counterbalance. His neck bends waterward and the smaller of the bronze dragonets exhales a thoughtful whuffle, his breath forming a momentary dip in the lake's surface.

Dragon> Volath and Avrieth sense that Daikoth's tone is winding with contemplation, a brightly shined and even tawdry gold. << Hrm. Maybe he wasn't broken, >> the blue dragon concedes. << He sure is good at acting it though. >>

J'len shakes his head to Claret, "Not choking, no. Just dealing with these two hopeless cases for the afternoon." He finishes getting Cantaneth's underside gleaming to match Lysseth's hide and steps out so the bronze can settle down and he can start in on his wings. He smiles at the two new arrivals as they learn who their mentor is.

Amarie heads over from the central bowl.
Amarie has arrived.

Avrieth swishes her tail experimentally through the water as she submerges herself, rumbling happily as she snorts at its surface. "I'm coming," Claret informs her reluctantly when Avrieth turns herself around, whuffling. Stepping forward and bending to test the temperature of the water with her hand, Claret's brows contract. Distracted, though, she sends Kassima a beatific smile. "There was something said about that when the morning roster was read. I'm afraid I wasn't paying quite such close attention as I ought, but I -thought- that's what heard. It's ever so lovely, anyway. Thanks!" Wrinkling her nose up to add to the effect of a frown, she asks J'len, "Hopeless? Were they bickering awfully, then? That's too bad. You shouldn't let it get in the way of breathing, though," she advises sunnily. "Not good for your health and all that."

M'tri stops long enough to give a stern glare to Daikoth. "I know you were put up to this," the lad says, scritching at his nose, then the back of his neck and then writhing as he tries to reach between his shoulder blades. "So stop, I'm oiling, pleaaaaaase Dai!" Daikoth just rumbles his laughter though, stopping long enough for M'tri to cuff him right on the shoulder affectionatly. "You've been influenced by evil dragons, don't give in." And he continues his oiling.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Daikoth and Avrieth with <> The sun-dappled light-on-dark of the bronze's reply ripples fluid, his laughter like a stream over pebbles. <>

The confusion Kassi wears is of a peculiar sort that can't seem to make up its mind whether it wishes to be pleasure or worry. Perhaps explained by, "If'n the assignment distresses you--either of you--then they can be changed; there's precedent, but either way, you're welcome. I hope I can well serve. For questions, practices, filching clothing replacements from Stores, all that mentors can do." She slants J'len something that tries to be a *look* and doesn't quite make it. "Who exactly are you calling hopeless? Absolutely welcome, Claret," she adds, melting into a warm smile. "My pleasure, I expect 'twill be. M'tri, for the record, Lysseth's denying credit for *that* particular idea!"

Volath, unattended for a moment, draws his foreleg through the water to haul a significant wave of the lake up onto his chest and underbelly. Dripping, his shoulder and wing muscles are set ashiver, sending his lopsidedly-outstretched wings shimmying in the fading light. "I'll help you in a moment. Don't you think it's a little late for it anyway," V'lano calls out to his lifemate, grinning affection through the faint scolding, then turns attention back to the wingleader with an upraised brow. "Distressed? As long as I can keep my filthy paws off of your wife, I think it's all good news to be looked forward to." A slanted gaze is struck sidelong at M'tri, the butcher's son's expression too deadpan to suggest serious concern.

Avrieth> Daikoth and Volath sense that Avrieth queries, her tone laced with warmer colors now, along with curiosity. <

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<lj-cut text="Claret witnesses the vagaries of matrimonial bliss. Spats... Infidelity... Insanity...">

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass has a clean green color and is tender with spring. The first water lilies on the pond are blooming in yellow and white, and pink, yellow, and white wildflowers scatter the field. The white climbs even into the trees, with blowing petals amid the new green leaves. The herb garden, still mostly cut back for the winter, is hemmed about with crocuses. The lake is cast into dark shadows, though it reflects the lights from the weyrs and the sky overhead, making a constellation in the waters.
You could probably catch a 'fish' or two if you tried.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Daikoth Cantaneth Lysseth
PLAYERS: Kassima J'len Claret (Carlile) M'tri

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Avrieth lumbers in from the central bowl.
Avrieth has arrived.

M'tri seems to debate and make a verdict that kissing Kassi's boots is a far way to go since he really hasn't done anything wrong. Instead, he clings to her ankles, laughing into one of her pantlegs so hard he's crying. "I wasn't laughing, it wasn't me. It was all his fault, he promised me gold and you /know/ how Daikoth wants shiny things and...and....and....HOLD ME!" M'tri sobs again, just as well as she is, his shoulders rocking with laughter. Daikoth is bewildered as anything, just...lost. He croons at the tears, but can't /quite/ understand why there's laughter at the same time, and so settles for rustling his wings unsurely.

Kassima, seated on a rock with her stick kept near to hand, and with such an expression that she's clearly trying to keep from laughing aloud, has M'tri kneeling in front of her and begging forgiveness. What a tableau to walk in on. "Oh, m'flower," she sighs, and sets a hand on his head, the closest she can come to holding him given their positions. "I suppose--*suppose*--I can forgive you, if'n you swear never t'do it again without one, inviting me, and two, giving me a cut of the gold. I mean, *really*!" Lysseth thrums a reassuring note to both confused young dragons, though one that itself brims with laughter.

Volath lumbers in from the central bowl.
Volath has arrived.

V'lano heads over from the central bowl.
V'lano has arrived.

M'tri makes a whole big show of doing the lip-sucky-thing, the one that little kids who have just gotten a boxing do; his lower lip trembling, he breaths shallowly, wiping his arm across his eyes, interspersing little 'hehe's into the mix of thespian crying. "I promise," he assures vehemently, rocking back onto his heels, over balancing, and falling to his rump, trying not to giggle. Even if it is /all that funny/.

Cantaneth settles down, letting J'len get the undersides of his wingsails with a rag dipped in the oil cask. His eyes whirling begins to slow down and the colors return from alarmed yellows to more content greens. "You two are just... well you're just... just." And that's all the eloquence he's got left in him at the moment and a freshly washed bronze that needs a good oiling before he decides to do something messy.

Claret trundles along to the shore with a cheery expression on her face, heading straight for the water. Avrieth follows at a sedate pace, wings rustling as she looks from dragon to person with great interest. Her step is only arrested when she takes in the puzzling scene, and wrinkling her nose she inspects Kassima and M'tri for a moment. "I say, have you been fighting again? Oh!" Remembering abruptly what her vague confusion helped her to forget, she gives Kassima a crisp salute. "Evening, ma'am. I mean, Greenrider. And everybody else," she adds, dropping that hand for a wave.

"*We* two," Kassi protests, though weakly because she's really, really having a hard time not laughing now, to the point that her shoulders are shaking with it. "*You* two are far the more disturbing. I can't believe you seduced m'wife, J'len!" She holds the back of her right hand to her forehead--then gives it up, and bends her head to laugh and laugh in silence at M'tri's rump-fall. "By all the stars in all the skies on all the worlds there be, I have *never*... oh, evening, Claret! And Avrieth. I'm afraid we have. M'tri got himself seduced by J'len. And he and I'sai have been sighing at each other. And there was something with a hat." Though she starts to wince at the M-word, the correction clears it; she returns the salute amiably. "Greenrider or Wingleader's fine. Given givens, they *might* even let you use m'name, but I'm honestly nay sure." She's seated on a tall grey rock by the Lake, her dragon freshly oiled and gleaming at her back. The green rumbles a pleasant enough and mellow greeting to the new arrivals.

Volath precedes his rider, arching neck upward as he crosses the last stony paces of the bowl and emerges onto the softer footing of the lakeshore. The lifting of his head allows him improved vision, or at least he might think as much, of the situation presented, and as that situation includes Metri on the ground, the bronze's attention momentarily sticks there. V'lano rounds the dragonet's form as soon as his pace is halted, an oil-shiny hand sliding over Volath's wingspar and foreshoulder, stopping at the lowest curve of throat while the youth's dark eyes widen at the sight his dragon's called his attention to. Overheard tidbits of the last end of Kassima's summary are echoed, dumbfounded: "By... J'len? I'sai... sighing?" He turns his attention to the greenrider, fumbling a salute as Volath shifts his in turn to Lysseth, rumbling a very softspoken, almost shy reply. "Wingleader."

Daikoth, at this point, is having a sharding difficult time. He's been abandoned, for one, mid-oiling, for his rider to go and laugh and cry with that absolutely /evil/ green's rider. For that is what she is, until his neglect is ended. The shame. His neglect is duly noted in a mopey shuffle, but Trii waves, saying, "Oh...oh, I can't...I can't breath Daikoth, please...give me a ... hehehehe... give me a moment." Sounding almost drunken, M'tri waves his hand up into the air, making an arch and then dropping it back as he calls, "Claret! V'lano! H'ro!"

"Oh yes, Wingleader," Claret corrects, though she doesn't look plussed over the mistake. "I'm still absolutely dreadful at that, even after a few months." Her glance wavering to M'tri, she shakes her head. "Seduced by J'len? Again? That is to say, somebody else? I must say, I don't think you're entirely a very good wife. No wonder you were fighting. It seems well enough that you're making up, though. Oh, hullo, V'lano!" Claret greets, turning to give him a smile as Avrieth's croon alerts her to his presence behind her. Avrieth rumbles a tiny greeting of her own, to all the dragons present before picking her way around Claret and towards the water.

Dragon> Volath and Avrieth sense that Daikoth's tone is all bright gold, spires and globes of it, a winding river of extra confidence flowing through his words. << Lysseth's rider, >> he feels the need to inform the new arrivals, if only to make sure they are not /too/ confused, << has broken mine. But they are only playing, I am told. >>

Kassima looks over towards those presences to which Lysseth has alerted her, eyes gleaming in moonlight and a grin still curving her mouth; she explains, oh-so-grave, "He has a thing for bronzeriders, 'twould seem. You might want t'watch out." The grin softens to a smile as she returns the salute, briskly. "Weyrling," she returns. "Mentee. G'deve t'you as well. Either's fine, Claret; either's valid, just never-never-never that other. The M-other. Isn't he atrocious?" The he in question apparently being M'tri. "But Avrieth looks well. As does Volath. I'm well-pleased t'see it. Poor M'tri--mayhaps I should leave off teasing so you can attend your dragon?" Not that this stops her from attempting a poke at his hat, as though to skew it. Lysseth, evil green though she may be, sends a sympathetic warble towards the young blue that nearly reaches a croon.

"Yes, h'lo indeed," V'lano replies for M'tri's benefit, then extends the greeting with a wave to the greenriding weyrling who came to the lake ahead of himself and Volath. The latter, finished with his quiet consideration of the much larger Lysseth and her greeting, stretches momentarily, spanning out luxurious wings and rolling his neck one way, then the other before strolling lakeward without so much as V'lano's say-me-so. "Mentee?" A blink toward Kassima, then a scanned glance at Claret, one dark brow furrowed low over his deep eyes, the other crooked skyward, wrinkling his brow.

Cantaneth bugles a greeting to Volath and Avrieth as he sits on his haunches with tail stretched out behind him for balance to allow J'len access to his underside with the oily towel. J'len peers out from underneath the bronze's wing and waves over to the arriving pair, "V'lano, Claret, hello! Please, stay a while!" His face is red from laughter, and he chokes back a return of the guffaws of before as he catches sight of M'tri and Kassima again. "You'd better listen to her, and to Daikoth, M'tri. Your blue looks like he might take matters into his own control." For his part, Cantaneth joins Lysseth in warbling to Daikoth, but the bronze seems a bit more mischevous.

Dragon> Daikoth and Avrieth sense that Volath's light-dappled darkness responds, luxuriant while stretching. << Are you certain he is broken? >> A pause, as if the possibility is being deeply considered. << My V'lano seems... not upset enough, for that. >>

"I'll have you know," M'tri says to Claret, "that I've never strayed to J'len 'fore this. And this was because he is a debonair bronzer, even moreso than I'sai -- so I hear -- and I could not resist the temptation." However, Cantaneth and (especially) Lysseth's sympathy for Daikoth makes the trickster roll over and crawl back to his blue. Now he's begging mercy and forgiveness from the blue, sprawled across his forepaws, begging, pleading, "Please Daikoth, don't eat me! It was all that evil greenrider's fault!" A look at Kassi that's sly, but Daikoth still makes to pretend to bite his rider's head off. It doesn't work, perhaps because he actually completely misses a head, but M'tri bows and skitters, "Oh, great one, no need for firing me, drastic measures, those." He hustles back to his oil vat, returning to Daikoth's oiling. At Volath's stretching, Daikoth is unable to help but show off his own wings, spreading them out in a graceful stretch, the small bit of light remaining flashing through them. It's after a while that M'tri demands, "Where? Here?" - "Here? No...I could have..." - "Almost got it...no...sit still!" And Daikoth isn't even moving.

Claret gives M'tri another forlorn shake of the head. "That's too bad, M'tri. You really ought to have better manners. I meant, not that you let J'len seduce you before, but that you let others seduce you. Haven't you? I distinctly remember such discussions on a few occasions. Well, at least he's not eating them anyway, I think that'd be far worse." Ducking her chin in a nod she agrees, "Right. Absolutely never ever the m-other. Avrieth is looking w--Ooh!" she breaks off as Avrieth splashes into the water, similarly without leave. "I expect that is getting a bit chilly now," she concludes ruefully, regarding the lake. As Avrieth wades in deeper, managing still to spare a watchful gaze for the antics behind her, Claret looks at J'len curiously. "You're not choking, are you? You seem a bit stuffed up."

Lysseth would seem to take an interest in young dragons, as both Volath and Avrieth in turn win moments of her curious regard; but she is content to stay on the shore, cleaned, oiled, and gleaming. Her rider is not quite so polished--a side-effect of having provided that cleaning and oiling. "Ach, stars, did I spoil it?" she asks with some consternation. "I must have done. Aye, 'tis so. I'sai's assigned you and Claret t'me as mentees this cycle, a choice which honors me." On a less serious note, she informs Daikoth, "I do beg t'differ. M'tri might be t'blame, and J'len, and I'sai, and who knows how many others, but I? Am entirely innocent. Innocence incarnate. As you do know, M'tri--and see! Claret has the right of it. Thankee, Claret." She throws the green Weyrling a broad smile. "You understand this sort of thing better than he, methinks."

Avrieth> Daikoth and Volath sense that Avrieth replies, her tone layered lightly with confusion. "Broken? Is he really broken?" A pause is taken while she turns to inspect the rider in question. "Does he look different than this morning? I can't remember."

"Mentees," V'lano repeats. Perhaps it's the noun structure he stuck on, for after a moment he blinks, his eyebrows level, and he bolts a half-step toward the wingleader and the blueriding Weyrling. "You're our - " This thought, he cuts off, attempting something more stoic by way of response. "Thank you, Wingleader," he settles for, then flicks startled attention toward the lapping shore where, a few paces aside from the spot where Avrieth entered, Volath is making trial of the potential bath-water with one outstretched forelimb. Talons part the ripples and plunge in, one wing stretching wider than the other to offer counterbalance. His neck bends waterward and the smaller of the bronze dragonets exhales a thoughtful whuffle, his breath forming a momentary dip in the lake's surface.

Dragon> Volath and Avrieth sense that Daikoth's tone is winding with contemplation, a brightly shined and even tawdry gold. << Hrm. Maybe he wasn't broken, >> the blue dragon concedes. << He sure is good at acting it though. >>

J'len shakes his head to Claret, "Not choking, no. Just dealing with these two hopeless cases for the afternoon." He finishes getting Cantaneth's underside gleaming to match Lysseth's hide and steps out so the bronze can settle down and he can start in on his wings. He smiles at the two new arrivals as they learn who their mentor is.

Amarie heads over from the central bowl.
Amarie has arrived.

Avrieth swishes her tail experimentally through the water as she submerges herself, rumbling happily as she snorts at its surface. "I'm coming," Claret informs her reluctantly when Avrieth turns herself around, whuffling. Stepping forward and bending to test the temperature of the water with her hand, Claret's brows contract. Distracted, though, she sends Kassima a beatific smile. "There was something said about that when the morning roster was read. I'm afraid I wasn't paying quite such close attention as I ought, but I -thought- that's what heard. It's ever so lovely, anyway. Thanks!" Wrinkling her nose up to add to the effect of a frown, she asks J'len, "Hopeless? Were they bickering awfully, then? That's too bad. You shouldn't let it get in the way of breathing, though," she advises sunnily. "Not good for your health and all that."

M'tri stops long enough to give a stern glare to Daikoth. "I know you were put up to this," the lad says, scritching at his nose, then the back of his neck and then writhing as he tries to reach between his shoulder blades. "So stop, I'm oiling, pleaaaaaase Dai!" Daikoth just rumbles his laughter though, stopping long enough for M'tri to cuff him right on the shoulder affectionatly. "You've been influenced by evil dragons, don't give in." And he continues his oiling.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Daikoth and Avrieth with <> The sun-dappled light-on-dark of the bronze's reply ripples fluid, his laughter like a stream over pebbles. <>

The confusion Kassi wears is of a peculiar sort that can't seem to make up its mind whether it wishes to be pleasure or worry. Perhaps explained by, "If'n the assignment distresses you--either of you--then they can be changed; there's precedent, but either way, you're welcome. I hope I can well serve. For questions, practices, filching clothing replacements from Stores, all that mentors can do." She slants J'len something that tries to be a *look* and doesn't quite make it. "Who exactly are you calling hopeless? Absolutely welcome, Claret," she adds, melting into a warm smile. "My pleasure, I expect 'twill be. M'tri, for the record, Lysseth's denying credit for *that* particular idea!"

Volath, unattended for a moment, draws his foreleg through the water to haul a significant wave of the lake up onto his chest and underbelly. Dripping, his shoulder and wing muscles are set ashiver, sending his lopsidedly-outstretched wings shimmying in the fading light. "I'll help you in a moment. Don't you think it's a little late for it anyway," V'lano calls out to his lifemate, grinning affection through the faint scolding, then turns attention back to the wingleader with an upraised brow. "Distressed? As long as I can keep my filthy paws off of your wife, I think it's all good news to be looked forward to." A slanted gaze is struck sidelong at M'tri, the butcher's son's expression too deadpan to suggest serious concern.

Avrieth> Daikoth and Volath sense that Avrieth queries, her tone laced with warmer colors now, along with curiosity. <<What makes him broken?>> Pausing, her voice now taking on tinges of satisfaction, she adds, <<Mine thinks he is funny when he is like this. So he must act well.>>

J'len and Cantaneth are standing on the shore of the lake, near Daikoth, Lysseth, and their riders. He is working the bronze over from snout to tail with an oil-dipped towel, adding a shine to the healthy gold-tipped bronze of Cantaneth's hide. And the bronze has gotten to the point where even J'len needs a boost to reach all the high places as he's grown to nearly half the size of the fully adult green present. "I'm calling you and M'tri hopeless, Wingleader." He carefully puts just enough respect in the title to avoid being completely irreverent. But the grin is still there as he buffs Cantaneth's hide.

M'tri suggests, "Kassi's your mentor? Run. Run like the wind! Run like I'm chasing you! Run like /SHE'S/ chasing you!" Velano earns a sly grin and bat of the lashes and the boy agrees, "Yes, yes, filthy paws, you've got." Beat. Another beat. "Not...that....you know...I'd know." Quickly, oil like your life depends on it! M'tri does, until Daikoth is gleaming in all his blue glory; especially since it's /his/ blue glory, green and bronze glory have been taken so far. He stretches to look around at Avrieth, then at Claret, and then stretches out to lounge. He even allows, now that /he/ has come first, M'tri to venture away and wash oil off his hands as best he can.

Amarie ventures onto the lakeshore from the bowl. A dark figure had just come down from between moments ago to let her off. She stands there for a moment in the evening light watching the weyrlings work and play in the water, a slant smile on her mouth at their antics.

Claret eyes the water again as V'lano calls out to Volath, but before entering she regards M'tri curiously. "Run? Is she going to be just terrible to us, or some such thing? I don't think I shall want to switch; it all seems reasonable enough to me. I th.." She cuts off abruptly as Avrieth chooses this moment to splash about even more, following Volath's example in sending a little wave toward shore, though it's not as large. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Claret murmurs, stepping into the water with a little shiver.

Kassima relaxes into a laugh and a second of those delighted smiles; says, "Then 'tis good--but do *try* t'keep your hands off him, aye; I realize he's the epitome of irresistable, that everyone in the Weyr has apparently been seducing him behind m'back and all, but I'd still appreciate your trying your best. How have drills been going?" she wants to know. Claret gets a glance, including her in this question. "--Oh, well, *that's* all right then, J'len. But nay a very kind thing for you t'say t'one you've seduced." Pause. "By which I mean, a'course, M'tri. Since I don't remember being seduced, and you'd hope 'twould. Never mind. M'tri, sweet-snookas, d'you really think anyone can ever run fast enough?" But despite the question, she gives a vigorous headshake. "I don't intend t'be just terrible t'you. Promise. Why, all of m'mentees t'date have made it t'graduation unscathed... or at least with the scars in places they don't show." She wouldn't seem to have noticed Amarie's entrance yet, but Lysseth's blue eyes, dimly glowing, come to rest on the figure. The dragon rumbles.

V'lano's no more willing to 'go there' over the filthy-paws discussion than is M'tri, the butcher-made-dragonet-caretaker's ears darkening a redder hue. Nevertheless he grins at the paler-eyed weyrling and finds some words to say about that other topic. "Run? Like she's chasing me?" He whirls in place, mocking abject fear at the possibility of the greenriding Wingleader bearing down on him at speed. "But wait, isn't she supposed to be? Maybe that's the other thing mentors do," he suggests through a grin. He holds that thought long enough to tell Kassima, "Good enough. Volath's a harder worker than I am," then takes off at a jog toward the water. No time like the present, either; Volath escalates the wave-making by sending his next splash not up onto his body, but out toward Avrieth. The droplets fall short, but the way he snakes his neck upward and gazes upon the green through one whirling eye blue 'round the edges of green suggests that waterworks are in the offing.

Dragon> Volath bespoke Avrieth with << If your rider delays in bathing you, >> delivered with solemn glitters of light and darkness over a laughing threat, an image of uptossed water and droplets fanned by waving wings, << Perhaps I can assist. >>

Daikoth has much better observation skills than M'tri; while his boy is bent over wiping his hands in the water, Dai is effectively distracted by Lysseth's rumbles, and he peers at the entrance to try to spy the figure himself. Who it could be beats him, but he notifies his rider with a rumble of his own that doubles as a greeting. M'tri, however, isn't particularly listening; he's still defending himself to J'len. "That's not what you told /me/," he says. "You said I was the only hope you had of staying sane, and if I ever left you you'd go crazier than a loon. That hurts, that you'd lie about that." To show it, "M'tri removes his hat, places it over his heart, and staggers around at the water's edge, making small splashes. "What, Dai? 'A silhouetty-thing over yonder'. Who taught you the word yonder?" M'tri demands to know as he strains his eyes to catch sight of 'over yonder,' wiping his hands on his pantleg and hunting for his shirt distractedly, now that he's properly dried.

Avrieth> Volath senses that Avrieth seems to turn the matter over in her mind, transmitting thoughts of splashes and waves every so often. <<My rider is taking a very long time. Perhaps both of us could have a bath, and then she'd see not to take so long.>> An image of wet dragons and riders shimmers in the periphery of her mind. <>

Cantaneth is looking out away from the lake and so he does notice Amarie's arrival. He nudges J'len, who was trying not to fall back into laughter at M'tri's acting, with his snout and looks out towards the bowl and the, "Pretty... eh?" He looks over his shoulder and nearly stumbles backwards off of the bronze's leg and down to the ground. But he catches himself on Cantaneth's raised wingspar long enough to jump down and jog over towards Amarie with a grin that can only be described as 'goofy' on his face. He stops a few paces away from her while Cantaneth croons from where he sits. "Hi." Elloquent, isn't he?

Dragon> Avrieth senses that Volath adopts the image of wet dragons and riders - clothes and all - with illuminated pleasure. << Very good! We'll show them, >> he agrees, enthusiastic as any youth plotting an attention-grabbing vengeance on a much-loved caretaker.

Amarie waves at M'tri so he won't strain his eyes too hard to find her in the dark. J'len makes it easy as he walks over to her. A pleased smile graces Amarie's face. In the three months since she'd last seen the weyrlings, they'd changed some. "Hello everyone. J'len." Amarie smile up at him. "I would have written you that I was coming to visit but I didn't know until this evening," She is slightly apologetic at no word of warning she was coming.

Avrieth is quite too busy cavorting in the water, creating little waves and trying to draw Claret further in to alert her rider to Amarie's presence. Throwing a glance back over her shoulder as she wades in, Claret agrees. "I shouldn't think I could run fast enough. And it wouldn't be very practical at all. Do your mentees always graduate with scars?" she asks, looking rather fascinated by the idea. Not that she'd be keen on it herself. "Oh, and drills are good. Avrieth is like that too, she works very hard. And she doesn't like it when I get corrected, either, which is troublesome." Finally taking note of Amarie's presence by the words of the others, Claret sends her an enthusiastic wave of her own. "Hullo, Amarie!"

"I'll have you know," Kassi informs, prim, "that I happen t'be--and nay thanks t'*you*, wifey dear--more chaste than chaser." Pause. "That's a pun for which you should all feel free t'hit me." She nevertheless crooks her hands into claws at V'lano's whirl and does her best to look fearsome, but, as ever, the laughter dancing deep in green eyes interferes with the seeming. "Chasing you. Hmm. It could be. 'Twill have t'consult with Is, see if'n that's on m'list of duties. He seems," she adds, by way of observation, "t'be the harder splasher, certainly. --Oh, J'len, such lies you tell m'wife t'win her favor! M'heart is torn with pain. Any minute now I'm going t'collapse from this rock, fall to the ground, twitch and spasm for fifteen minutes, and then expire of despair in grandly tragic glory. Amarie!" How easily distracted she is from such plans. "Welcome! Duties to the Beastcraft and her Masters, too, I guess are due now." She twists back on the rock to look towards Claret again, and one eye closes in a brief wink. "Most. Of the psychological kind, if'n naught else... nay, nay, i'truth they don't. Generally. If'n Kharty wasn't scarred by her stint at the bar she bloody well *should* have been, and Maylia must have *something* t'be accounting for her strange obsession with ears, though I don't think I had aught t'do with it."

Amarie's visit doesn't come to V'lano's attention until J'len's footsteps cause the butcher's boy to glance over his shoulder. Noting the other bronzeriding weyrling's met p with someone, he turns around fully, putting his back to the dragons and the lake. Volath takes this lovely opportunity to wade into the water properly; once in, he sways side to side, creating increasingly significant waves to spread across the surface. A low croon, soft as a wind's sigh, escapes the little bronze's throat - not a contented, loving sound this, but a thrilled anticipatory announcement of something /fun/ in the making. This remark made, Volath rears and spreads his wings, fanning them forward just once. The trailing talons of his wingspars strike the lake's disturbed surface and the sheer windforce sends water flying, primarily toward Avrieth and - hopefully - not so much toward Claret, though the dark-haired young woman is noted through one fast-whirling green eye. His rider, oblivious on shore, gapes in Amarie and J'len's direction. Echoing Kassima, he stammers, "Am - H'lo, Amarie?"

Avrieth> Volath senses that Avrieth echoes the very same image yet again, this time coated with with even more enthusiasm as the idea is shared, along with genuine pleasure at helping her rider out so. <<Yours must come in the water too. I do not think I can help with your baths if he is that far away.>>

"Amarie." Well, thank you, M'tri for your delayed and obvious input. Anything useful to add? "Hey, lookit that." Nope, nothing. Daikoth nudges at his rider for the stupid comment as the boy passes. M'tri loses his footing slightly, dropping back against Dai's proffered nose and scritching at his eyeridge absently. "I'm not daft; I'm surprised." A snort from Daikoth shows what he thinks of that.

J'len's smile becomes less goofy and more broad, "No warning needed. I'm glad to see you again." Cantaneth seems to share this view and rises from his wallow to walk over towards the two. He settles back down into the samd about halfway there, crooningg to the pair to encourage movement. J'len smirks over his shoulder at the bronze, "He insists on getting the rest of him oiled. The great bulk." His voice is anything but stern as he turns back towards the group at the shore. "Join us?" WHich 'us' he means is left up to the listener.

"Of course," Amarie nods to J'len. She lets him lead the way over to Cantaneth. On her way there, each person gets a greeting. "Hello Claret. I got your letter. I'm glad to see Avrieth is looking as well as you told me she was." And to Kassima she says, "Good evening ma'am Kassima ma'am," Her eyes are full of merriment, teasing Kassima with that old way of greeting her. "How's Lysseth?" And to V'lano she says, "Goodness! Volath and Cantaneth are both so big now! How are you doing? I got your letter too V'lano!" She smiles. Of course to J'len she asks, "And where was your letter?" teasingly. M'tri gets a wink as well as, "Cheating on Kassima already? For shame!"

Avrieth rustles her wings happily, stretching them out and letting the water drip all over her with a short rumble of contentment. She crows her self-satisfaction to Volath, and then to her rider in a low croon, splashing her a bit more with her enthusiastic movements. Claret, though not fully drenched by Volath's antics, is quite wet enough to be getting on with, and sends a wry grimace toward Avrieth and Volath. "Well, I suppose I have to come in now," she mutters, before turning back again to look at those fortunate enough to be safely on the shore. "I suppose it wouldn't have done to have weyrlings that got into terrible predicaments," Claret accedes to Kassima, sounding a touch regretful. "Though I should hate to follow in that sort of a path myself, though ears sound interesting." Turning towards M'tri, Claret calls over helpfully, "I think you're daft!" And then promptly gives Amarie a cheery smile. "Thanks ever so. And I am glad you got that letter, it was a bit long coming."

Dragon> Avrieth senses that Volath is extremely pleased with himself, but assents that there's more work to do. Pesky rider, remaining on shore! A moment is reserved for some thoughts sent /that/ way, come-hithers toward V'lano, and then the bronze shares, << He has been carving meat again. It smells very good, but he will be glad to be bathed before we go inside! >> Most certainly.

Though she makes no movements towards the water--not to enter, nor come close enough to be targeted by the splash--Lysseth nevertheless regards Volath's movements with the sort of interest one might show at a Bitran horse race: curiosity as to what will happen, and not the least intent of interfering. "Such a role model," Kassi murmurs... but she makes no motions towards stopping him, either. "Amarie! None of that, nay ever! You can still call me by name--do me a favor and be m'blessed relief from all the inevitable salutings and titlings, won't you? Please, please?" She attempts sad baby canine eyes, although the effort may fall closer to 'ludicrous' than 'effective.' "Apparently, M'tri's been cheating on me with everyone here. Except Claret. Mayhaps. Did you seduce him too, Claret?" A pause. "Terrible predicaments... well, one of m'mentees threw herself naked into a bronzerider's lap the once. That's Kharty. But that's as close as it came. I certes found that terrible enough, insofar as I saw it, given that 'twas hiding m'eyes."

"With J'len no less." Stage whisper: "And V'lano when J'len was busy." He drops back into a sitting position, allowing Daikoth room to stretch his neck out and examine her as closely as he can without sitting on her and putting his nose in her face. He comforts Kassi with, "No, Claret hasn't seduced me, and I'll not be throwing myself nekked at any bronzeriders. At least, not until they all was their hands properly." M'tri grins mischeviously, looking at Amarie with his most angelic expression. "I've not been /cheating/. I've been /conned/ in the worst way." Daikoth rumbles agreement there, making moves to stalk Amarie as he rises to his squat little legs and, even with his size, trying to sneak up on her.

"And mine," V'lano echoes Claret, lifting a wave to Amarie. He pauses to squint toward M'tri, a lopsided grin on his mouth. "Figures I'm left to be second-string even among your affairs," he sighs, only slightly overdramatically, before turning to wade into the water, where already-dripping dragons, especially Avrieth, cause him pause for brow-raising. "What's going on here?" The answer to which is simple: bathing! Volath rears again, this time sliding around in the water to include Claret in the spray from outspread wings. Humans need cleaning too! His rider, faintly horrified, sloshes at a jog toward the bronze dragonet, hands outstretched. "Volath! What are you doing?"

J'len blushes at the question about his letter, but nods back towards the barracks. "It should be on its way by now. I asked for it to go with the next batch of runner dispatches. I.." and here the blush becomes more one of shame at a shortcoming than anything else. "I don't write well. The words are hard to read unless I go slowly. And some I don't know how to spell out." He hides his expression by bending to dip the towel back in his cask of oil and starting back on oiling Cantaneth's neck.

Amarie hasn't noticed Daikoth stalking her yet. Her attention is focused on J'len. "That's alright," she says softly to him. "Any letters you send me are appreciated, well-written or not." She glances out at the water, distracted by both Volath and Avrieth's play in the water. A grin splits her features as she calls out, "Get 'him Volath!" Encouraging the dunking of V'lano. "I'll be happy to oblige you Kassima. No salutes or bowing and scraping. Unless you come to Beastcraft that is. Headwoman Kaye would have my skin if her new assistant didn't make you feel welcome!"

"Me?" Claret asks, raising her eyebrows. "Exactly. Of course not. I shouldn't like to seduce M'tri. I think, if I decided I wanted to seduce anyone, it would be more interesting to seduce someone that hadn't already been, well, conned, by everyone else." While Claret speaks, Avrieth wallows in the ever-increasing amounts of wet, looking just as pleased with herself as Volath as she stretches out her much smaller wings, returning the favor by echoing the sweeping motion of the bronze's wings, obligingly sending water in the direction of the dragonet and his rider. Crooning happily, she splashes away, while Claret, who apparently would have done best to return to the shore before the water show really began, sloshes her way further into the water. "Hey, Avrieth, stop that!"

"That's... good t'know. Methinks." Can Kassi be blamed for not being certain? "At least there's one; probably the *only* one you haven't seduced at this rate, but never mind--ach, V'lano, I'm sure you aren't second-string! J'len just got t'him first. Or something. And methinks what he's doing is learning the time-honored art of drowning as many people as possible," she adds, as helpful as she always is. When J'len catches her attention and shrewd glance, she drops into sobriety. "Are the classes helping?" she asks him. "I hadn't thought t'ask how those were going. Thankee *most* kindly for that, Amarie. I should hope *bowing and scraping* aren't required anywhere! Just have some of the ale ready if'n you want to--hey, Assistant? Felicitations! That's new, isn't it?" The greenrider has to duck her head to hide her grin at Claret's statement; blandly, she agrees, "I'm much of the same mind. What's the point in being a seductress anyway--shells, that's hard t'imagine--with nay challenge in it at all?" Quiet laughter sounds at the dragons' play. "They both seem t'be enjoying themselves."

V'lano attempts reply to Kassima, but whatever murbling words he's making are buried as he lifts arms to shield his face from oncoming sheets of water stirred up by green wings. As soon as he think himself safe from the onslaught and unbends to begin scolding his lifemate, the bronze cranes his neck up, up, /up/, then curves it downward in a sinewy arc, muzzle headed straight for his rider. Drops fly off of headknobs and chin into the butcher's boy's ever-increasingly unruly curls, but the real show is the headbutting of the bronze's nose into V'lano's shoulder, shoving him toward deeper water and the dragons who, it would seem, very much want their baths - now. The Lemos youth staggers, going chest-deep on bending knees, then uprights and splutters: "What the?" Laughter, half-bewildered, follows. "It's all right, Claret, she's - uh - I think I'm just getting washed."

Dragon> Avrieth senses that Volath is satisfied, smug even. << He is within easy reach now. >>

Avrieth> Volath senses that Avrieth's tone is anticipatory, and quite well-pleased. <>

"Are you guys saying I'm easy?" M'tri demands of Kassi and Claret with much indignation. Laughing at V'lano, the lad adds to Kassi's statement, "Yeah, see...anyone can drown, but doing it with finesse..." He turns to Amarie to blink in bewilderment. "So, you got it, eh? Well, my pity to the Beastcraft," he teases to her, drawing his hand across his throat in a 'cut it out' gesture for Daikoth...who, as would be expected, ignores it completely. There's a pretty, dragonless woman here, and /he/ isn't going to pass up any opportunities! Without warning, he stops his evident slinking and stretches his neck to look at Amarie from the side. A very close-up examination follows.

Cantaneth does notice the skulking blue off course, but his priority at the moment is his rider. He unfurls his wing to wrap it protectively around J'len, who nods towards Kassima, "They help some. It's not reading that gets me, it's writing." He smiles to Amarie, "But the letter should hopefully be there when you get home."

"I will look for it when I get home then," Amarie promises to J'len. She's about to say something else but a peering blue head from her side distracts her. "Hello?" she asks politely to Daikoth. "M'tri what's he doing?" she asks of the lad, peering at Daikoth. She stands her ground though, not at all scared of him. "Why is he ..looking at me like that?"

Claret shrugs lackadaisically toward M'tri. "I don't know! But it rather seems like it, doesn't it? Anyway, I've never particularly considered being a seductress, and I don't think I'd like to, but theoretically it seems like it would be much more interesting to have a challenge, I agree." Now properly immersed in water, Claret turns her gaze to V'lano, a smile quirking on her lips as Avrieth sets to her task of dislocating water into the vicinity of the V'lano and Volath with great diligence, working away happily to compensate for her smaller size, and thusly smaller waves. "I should think so! It seems like maybe both of us are getting baths," Claret finishes, pushing soggy hair out of her face.

Kassima mutters, though it's quite loud enough to hear, "For everyone but me, 'twould seem. Mayhaps I should be *glad* you can't seem t'get pregnant again--we'd never know who the father was." And she slews suspicious glances at everyone present. Including Lysseth, who looks somewhat nonplussed. The water-play earns more laughter, this delighted: "This," she announces, "is just how the Sky-Lady and her clutchmates were, upon a time. Get him, Avrieth!" Her dragon rumbles assent, though it's vague, uncaring of who gets whom so long as *someone* does. "M'children have had it in their turns that writing's the harder part," the rider agrees with a sympathetic if rueful grin for J'len. "The less *fun* part, furthermore. But keep with it. Trust me, your eventual Wingleader will thank you."

Daikoth isn't /trying/ to be scary. He could be, of course, because he's HIM, but rather, he just peers closely. Oblivious to any conversation that may be going on, he presses his head against Amarie's hand demandingly. "Being a prat," M'tri answers shortly. "Leave'm alone, Diakoth." - "My mum had trouble teaching us to write," M'tri offers semi-helpfully. Unsure, however, he doesn't continue, and instead tries to herd Daikoth away from Amarie and J’len with gestures.

V'lano is promptly drenched, pausing in laughter to avoid inhaling the droplets being shed his way. Volath stretches upward, raising his muzzle with a low rumble of approval and enjoyment, as some of the waves lap up at his underbelly and over his forelegs, spreading wings to absorb cleansing spray from the smaller young dragon's efforts. "All right," the dark-haired man snickers, "I'm wet, already. Won't have to do laundry tomorrow, either - assuming I can find something dry to wear!" The young bronze's head slants sideways and his wings retract a moment, then unfurl for more water-throwing, the hesitation regarding his rider's amusing concern about clothing soon discarded.

Avrieth croons with satisfaction as her targets are properly doused. Subsiding with an accompanying rumble, she weaves her head toward Claret expectantly, looking smug. "Yes, well done, Av," Claret allows, looking as though she's on the verge of laughter. "Are you sufficiently clean, V'lano?" she asks as she wades farther in, laying one hand on Avrieth's hide as she jerks a thumb suggestively toward shore. "C'mon back now, Avrieth. We're both all wet, and scrubbing we can save for later." Wading back in the aforesaid direction, Claret grins back at V'lano and Volath, giving them a little wave. "Thanks for your troubles." Avrieth follows slowly, looking a bit plaintive about it, but soon enough Claret's dripping on the shore and heading back through the bowl with a shiver. "It was awfully nice to see you, Amarie. I do hope you can stay longer than this evening. Goodnight!" she calls, waving in turn to all the rest still clustered by the lake.

Weyrling Lesson #1

2006-08-08T02:00:51Z

Weyrling Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This immense cavern is the home for weyrling pairs. A huge opening is the entrance, leading to the ground level bowl. The floor is not quite smooth, being gouged with numerous scratches and cracks, from the clumsy undergrown claws on equally clumsy dragonets. The indentations on the floor, made by millennial pressure of the growing dragons, are quite suggestive of their purpose. Most of them have furs in one corner of them, as the new riders sleep as near their lifemates as they can. A particular odour lingers in the air here, not quite pleasant.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Taralyth
PLAYERS: Breena A'tan Lanisa V'lano Claret
OTHER: Volath, Tisiath, Sonaith, Avrieth, Leonneth

Obvious Exits:
Bowl

A'tan looks down as he pulls his fingers away again, "No I wasn't being mean about you love. I guess you just like to enjoy your meals is all I meant." He looks over at Lanisa as his neck becomes more red. "I guess she didn't like that." Leonneth stretches her wings to show off the blackness underneath before butting her head into A'tan again.

"Opinionated, is she?" Lani asks. "Tisiath can be a little, but mostly he seems a bit stubborn about some things." Course, she's still sounding mostly amused by that.

A'tan nods to Lani, "She is rather moody at times it seems. Doesn't seem to eat like some of the others, but when she does she sure enjoys it." He reaches over and grabs a towel to begin wiping off Leonneth's dinner.

Sonaith wakes with a lilting warble of greeting for the other dragons, and sets about attempting to wake her blonde-haired lifemate...who's turning out to be rather difficult. "Go 'way, you just ate," comes the quiet mumble. Which doesn't last long, this time the green's low-sung note is cajoling. "Fine...fine, fine." Breena sits up, rubs her face, and muffles a yawn before crawling carefully out of the couch.

"Avrieth's got loads of opinions," Claret pipes in to the conversation from the periphery. Sitting against the green and rubbing oil into her hide, she continues. "She tells me how I should do everything, as if she'd been around for eighteen turns and not just a few sevendays. Oh, shh," Claret breaks off as Avrieth's eyes start whirling a little more quickly.

"Tisiath can be like that too, Claret. Or at least, some of the time. A lot of times he asks me about things and then wants me to help him get them right." Lani rolls her eyes and then glances over at A'tan as she keeps oiling, "She doesn't eat consistently you mean?"

A'tan looks down at Leonneth fondly and shakes his head. "No she doesn't seem to want to eat /all/ the time. When she is hungry though she will eat quite a bit." He grabs the oil and opens the lid. He smiles at the little green before rubbing some oil into her hide.

Sonaith's musical wake-up-call has a more widespread effect than on just Breena. On Volath, however, the effect is more like the one desired; the bronze head raises ponderously up as if heavy from sleep. Silent, he fixes one bluely whorlsome eye on the source of the warble, then tilts his neck so very slightly to transfer attention through the other eye to his sleeping lifemate. An immensely casual stretching of wing momentarily shelters the fully-dressed and softly-snoring V'lano, then reveals him again as wingspars pull back in. A subtle - to a dragonet's mind - flick of a tailtip over the butcher's son's nose startles him awake with a shaken, "What?!"

M'tri has connected.

I'sai enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
I'sai has arrived.

Yselle enters from the weyrlingmaster's office.
Yselle has arrived.

Dragon> Dianneth, Daikoth, Sonaith, Tisiath, Volath, Avrieth, and Leonneth sense that Taralyth's sending glitters distinctly blue - that, and no more.

"You're noisy," says Breena, still mostly asleep, to Sonaith. The green, meanwhile, turns an amused look on Volath, then obligingly follows the sleepy girl over toward the vats of meat, fixing an expectant, if red-tinged look upon her once they get there. "Yes, love, I know. But you're still noisy. Here now, see? Sorry, everybody," the human adds for the others as she looks up.

Claret gives Avrieth a little grimace, though it's followed by an affectionate rub. "Okay, okay, I'll put less oil on the paddle," she mutters before echoing Lani's eyeroll. "She doesn't even ask how things are done properly, just tells me how to do them right. I guess she'll get more sensible about it as time passes, too."

I'sai saunters out, and never mind the trace of a limp; his sleeves are rolled nearly to his elbows, still a trace of oil from earlier inspections despite that his hands are now clean. "...late shift. Thnk you'll get more sleep tonight?"

Yselle has /her/ hands thrust firmly in her pockets. She's watching I'sai out of the corner of her eyes, mutters "huh," to herself and answers him with "Depends on Roselle, I guess. She's been a little restless. Sleeping better though," as soon as they're well and truly /in/, she looks around the barracks - an automatic gesture. "One baby is better than a lot of them."

"Really? Huh." Lani replies to A'tan as she moves farther back towards Tisiath's hip, still oiling. Then sends a grin Claret's way but pauses in replying as she hears her da and moves to salute with one oil covered hand.

A'tan jumps up with the oil can in his hands and snaps off a salute to Yselle and I’sai. "Ma'am, Sir"

"Oh, again," V'lano confirms, resting a hand on Volath's muzzle while his other knuckles into his eyes, rubbing them wider awake. "Food. And oil. And food. Maybe in that order," he groans. "Did my stomach wake you up, or yours mine?" The rubbing hand falls away from his dark eyes, leaving them to shift downward and consider the dragonet, who lifts up onto his feet. The hand resting on Volath's nose is pushed upward along this natural course, but as the young bronze's jaw drops into a lazily hungry yawn, the young man pulls it back toward headknobs for some safer affection. "I see," he mumbles, grin abashed, and scans toward the meat-tubs.

"If it's all and only yours," I'sai agrees. "Should've taken a nap this afternoon, going late like this, but that brown with thicktail - " He inhales, though not particularly deeply. "Think I can still smell it. Anyway, let's make the rounds, and then settle in from - shells, A'tan, don't need to salute _in_ your barracks, but it's a good thought. How're you doing? Leonneth?"

A'tan smiles to I'sai and rubs his hand on his pants. "I'm fine. Leonneth, well she is very demanding." He pauses and looks down at the little green, "Well you are. But in a loving way."

Yselle arcs another look at I'sai, pulling her hands out of her pockets to fold her arms. "Well," she says in a gruff tone, "Why don't you nap for a while after this? I can keep an eye on the kids before I go." Mostly, she's looking around the room as she says it. Lanisa earns herself something of a smile, she mutters under her breath, "They'll learn about that. Bet she'll need to wash her hair later." And for A'tan, she offers another smile. "She may never grow out of that," she notes."

Claret opens her mouth to speak, but upon I'sai's and Yselle's entrance, she starts to echo the general saluting pattern when a few others do so, but pauses when it's declared unnecessary, instead nodding to them and returning to her oiling, working very carefully and darting glances at Avrieth's eyes every few moments as if to see the verdict mirrored there.

"She would be," I'sai says mildly, and then tilts Ys a sideways grin. "I'll handle it. Thanks, though." He crouches by Leonneth, holding out his palm for her to sniff if she chooses, although his lip does curl a little at seeing the meaty smears along her muzzle; to her new rider, "I'd recommend cleaning her up the rest of the way before finishing with the oiling, unless she had any particularly rough patches - though her hide looks pretty smooth, from here, sometimes you'll be able to tell more, lucky man. That meat'll be rough on her skin if you leave it on like that. Her stomach feeling good to you? She didn't gorge?"

Lanisa just falls back into oiling again, moving back to that hip she was starting on without seeming to mind anything else when the blue nudges her. "I know, I know." She murmurs quietly as she works again.

Leonneth lifts her head into I'sai's palm and croons softly as she sniffs. She nips at his fingers thinking that there might be some of that stuff hers feeds her.

V'lano spends a few moments pleading with Volath. The exchange is largely silent, though each occasionally expresses things to which words would do no justice: Volath, haughty entitlement, chin up and wings threatening to span out; V'lano, swift headturns away from his lifemate with threatened indifference, eyes always checking to make sure he's not quite believed. Finally some agreement is worked out, the rider telling the bronze a somewhat affected, "Very well, come along. But keep at least your head length's back from the tub, and let me choose the cuts. You'll thank me for it while chewing."

A'tan shakes his head at I'sai, "No actually she doesn't seem to eat as much as the other dragons. When she is hungry though she eats good. She just demands over things. She loves to be oiled and scritched." He smiles at the last thought.

Yselle meets I'sai's grin with a sigh, a tightish smile of her own. "Well, if you change your mind," she mumbles, "or just want to go bathe or something..." she doesn't accompany the weyrlingmaster to A'tan and Leonneth, instead, taking her own path around the barracks, stopping by Lanisa, and pausing to inspect her oiling. "You seem to be handling things okay, Lanisa," she says. "How's he feeling? Not too itchy?" idly, she slides her gaze down the full length of the blue, her brow knit in concentration.

Breena is as quiet as Sonaith is not while the green's eating, still looking rather bleary-eyed. She clambers to her feet and salutes to I'sai and Yselle, once she realizes that they're there. "Evening, sir, ma'am." As she's about to sit back down, Sonaith warbles again and starts off toward the oil vats, so the blonde girl's left to follow in her wake, dazedly.

"Bet she does, bet she does," I'sai says, and grins at the pair, curling his fingers to get them -under- Leonneth's chin instead of in her mouth. "Glad to see it. Clean her up, all right? and for the rest, keep on like you've been doing." He starts for Sonaith, again waving off the salute - in the barracks, after all - and then turns that into waving the pair off to their own work; "Might be too early for doing much with projection after all," he mentions to Yselle. "Hard to concentrate, I'm thinking." Continuing on, "How's your oiling coming along, Claret? Avrieth."

"Not too itchy, no ma'am. He's more worried about if he's shiny enough right now. Wants to look good for his public or something I suppose." But Lani's reply has that fond tone to it as she pauses in her work to reply. "He's getting just a little sleepy, but otherwise he's fine."

A'tan smiles and nods, "Yes Sir. Thank you." He reaches down with the towel and washes the meat away from Leonneth's muzzle. "See its good to eat a little neater." he says softly. He works away for a few minutes checking and double checking to make sure its coming off. "There that's better. I can see the gold in your muzzle now Leonneth. Very beautiful." He grins as the little green nuzzle him affectionately.

Volath accepts V'lano's plead with a sniffy nod, as though acquiescing gracefully to a gracious request rather than obeying an order. The pair trod toward the meat tubs, the rider filling in conversation with a low monologue about the quality of the herdbeast this week, the fat on the cuts, whether his dragon should have that rich a meal. Volath cares little for most of this, though he exercises his jaw some while they walk, well-prepared for the first slab of meat his rider finally provides him. Finally V'lano comes out of the small world that is just he and his lifemate, and waves something that starts as a salute and softens into a sheepish greeting at the Weyrlingmaster.

Claret shifts, worming herself around to Avrieth's other side to oil there. Avrieth, for her part, follows Claret's movements very carefully, head swiveling around. At I'sai's question, Claret's gaze turns up briskly. "Good. I mean, the oiling is coming along well, although she's very picky just how I do it."

Yselle glances back to I'sai, then to the dragonets, thoughtful. She nods, although since I'sai's now headed to Claret, he'd have to be looking over just /then/ to see it. Lanisa's comment though, has her agreeing more enthusiastically. "There's time yet," she says. Still, she grins at Lanisa, and says "Keep up the good work. He looks great. Make sure he allows you to get at all the crevices." And then /she/ is heading over to V'lano and Volath, and much more business-like than last time they sat and chatted. "I don't remember Dianneth so interested in what made up her food, just that it was there when she wanted it."

"How's that?" I'sai asks, giving Avrieth the same assessing look that Leonneth had received; when she turns, he glances past, catching V'lano's look and giving him a swift see-you're-next grin before crouching to look lower. "See the folds of her neck, right there? Have to really work that in. It may tickle a little, but it's better than itching, y'know? When she stretches you can see it."

"Oh, he's not, either," V'lano sighs, suddenly the much put-upon half of a couple, weary and affectionate all at once. "But I am. If it affects how I digest, how I feel after eating, what I eat - Volath! We agreed!" This last is betrayed, dismayed, as the bronze's head dares much, much closer than its own length to the edge of the vat. Honorable, if hunger-driven, the dragonet retreats when V'lano selects another gobbet of meat and offers it for the awaiting mouth. "Er. If it affects my stomach, I would assume it affects his." Put that way, it sounds silly, and the weyrling rider's ears hue darker pink.

Claret scoots over slightly to get a better look at Avrieth's neck. "Stretch it out. Please," she adds, putting a finger against the patch as Avrieth complies. "This spot?" she asks, though she's answered by the slightly rough feeling. "Sorry, Avrieth," she murmurs before looking up. "You mean, how's she picky? She just tells me what to do. It's very distracting, I must say."

Yselle actually conceals a smile, but tells the bronze semi-sternly, "Now Volath, if you put your mouth on the meat in the barrel it'll taint it for the rest of the dragons. Best to let V'lano manage that part, hm?" an arced look at V'lano suggests reinforces those words as she turns her attention to the bronze hide. "Hm..." she says as she inspects, then a more thoughtful, "Hmmmm.... Volath, would you lift this wing for me please?"

Lanisa settles for a simple "Yes ma'am." As Yselle moves along and doesn't wait for prompting this time before busily reapplying herself to the oiling. Something Tisiath seems to appreciate as he shifts to allow her better access to his whole leg. Now and then while she works, she glances at the others, but mostly she just keeps at it.

"Exactly," I'sai says, standing up again to walk around Avrieth, reaching out towards the spot between two neckridges here, the inner part of her belly where it's partly covered by her flank there. "Tells you - as in, words in your heads, do you get images, or just get a sense of 'right' and 'wrong' like that old warmer-colder game littles play?"

Daikoth is all but sprawled out alongside Trii, his neck curled around one side and tail around the other, to result in a bit of a fencing in for his rider. He wakes just as fast as he does anything else, even if he does blink sleepily a few times. Hey, lookit that. There's the Weyrlingmaster. A stretch of first one wing and then the other settles all that waking business, and he quickly proceeds to poke, nudge, nuzzle, and gently butt the dozy M'tri. When the weyrling finally moves, it's to swat weakly at Daikoth. With a few more thumps over the head with his muzzle, the boy finally just rolls, blinking foggily at the rest of the room, even moreso at the weyrlingmasters. "Oh...s'they are," he responds, making more haste to sit up and absently rub at the flank, which ceases movement as the itch is soothed.

Volath pauses, whirling a green-tinged blue eye the way of his not-yet-rider. V'lano grins, beaming approval and a certain amount of flattery at actually being asked, however peripherally, and nods emphatically. Thus is the bronze wing extended, the sun-glittered darkness of its spars unfurling translucent liquid between for the Assistant Weyrlingmaster's inspection. V'lano's thrill abates as he watches the wing stretch out, and he flicks a dark, concerned glance up at Y'selle. "Is something wrong?"

Yselle ducks under that wing, her frowning increasing. "Come here," she says, sticking her head where it can be seen, and waggling her finger at V'lano. "Best give him another piece of meat first, if he's ready for it. I want to show you something."

Claret starts applying more copious amounts of oil to the first of those two indicated spots, nodding as she goes along. Knitting her brows together in thought, Claret considers the question, finally replying, "Well, kind of like words, I think. But they're fuzzy, so I can't always tell what she means. And pictures too, sometimes, but those aren't much more helpful."

The butcher's son acquires a hearty slab of meat, picking through the tub only very briefly for one he finds appealing enough for his Volath, and coaxes the also-distracted dragonet to take it before coming around to the side where Yselle investigates a wing from the bottom up. He ducks in beside her, a reassuring hand on the glinting haunch, and murmurs, "What is it?"

I'sai promises, "We'll work on that. Clearing those up. Letting you understand each other better. That's something you'd want too, Avrieth, hey?" He takes a step back - encounters Daikoth's glance and crosses his eyes at the blue, missing M'tri's look altogether - "Anything else on your mind about how she's progressing, any other questions before I move on?"

"See this?" Yselle runs her hand over rough hide. "You've been missing this, probably because it's not easy to get at - he needs to extend /all the way/ when you oil. "He hasn't been complaining of it itching? Give it a little while, and this will break down, and if it does, it's going to be a lot harder to fix than to prevent. If he were betweening, a breakdown here could cause him no end of grief. - You need to make him extend his tail, his wings, his neck, move his legs around, when you oil, you can't miss a single spot."

Avrieth pauses in her attempts to crane her neck to watch Claret long enough to eye I'sai with interest. "I'd like that," Claret replies readily. "And... I think she would too, if only so I'll listen to her suggestions properly. She's saying something like that, I mean. But I don't think I have any questions. Besides -how- to make those words and such clearer, but I guess we'll talk about that later."

"No, you can't do that..." M'tri's getting there, slowly but surely. Now he's stretching in much imitation of Daikoth, who is staring at I'sai intently. "That's because your eyes don't cross. Oh, I know..." Managing to get to his feet, still rubbing one hand over his face, M'tri is urged on by quiet croons from Daikoth, who's straining his neck as the boy fetches both food and oil and, dragging his feet, returns to his demanding lifemate. Flopping back onto the ground, M'tri sits, then plops a knee beneath him, and forces a fist down on the meat, flattening most of it before grabbing out a piece and placing it in Daikoth's wide-open mouth. While the blue chews, the lad oils. A dreadfully slow pattern, given the demanding huff between the administrations.

"Later - maybe sooner," I'sai agrees. "Lot of you're looking sleepy," a nod to Sonaith's weyrling, over there, and the brown pair beyond her, "Wish I could say you could snap your fingers and it'd instantly all be in focus, but it'll mean a lot of practicing. What we'll basically do for you is set you up so you know what you're doing, a game or two to play, and that way you can practice on your own. Although I'd appreciate your not trading comments during lectures like we used to," and this time, when there's that white flash of grin, it's more boyish than anything. He nods to her, to them both, and ambles on over to M'tri and Daikoth. "How're you two doing? M'tri, I know it's hard to keep track sometimes, but better to clean off your hand before you get to oiling - otherwise you're just smearing blood all over him, and maybe one of the bigger dragons'll want to eat him, and then where will you be." Pause. "Joking, about that last. Mostly."

"Make him," V'lano grins, as if the idea is funny, but Volath turns his chewing head around, twisting his neck a bit, to consider Yselle and his rider with a slightly bewildered expression. The young man sighs through his grin, putting a hand out to confirm with touch the spots that have been missed. "All right. Is there - an order, I can oil in, to make sure every place is got? Do you have a method, top to toe?"

Breena, finished with Sonaith's latest coat of oil, runs a soft cloth over the green's headknobs, prompting another quiet warble. "Better?" the girl voices, soft, but the rest of the exchange is quiet. I'sai attracts her attention at the mention of sleep, and the smile she offers is rueful. "Yeah. Sleepy, itchy, hungry, those're the only things I feel right now. At least she's stopped trying to tell me how it tastes. Icky. Very icky."

Tisiath stretches, shifts, resettles, causes Lani to jump back, "Hey! A little warning Tisiath." But now she can reach that spot she was working on so much better, "Yeah, yeah. I know." As she moves back over to oil, she sends a quick glance towards Is and M'tri, grinning to herself at the jest.

"We're going to have to check every inch of him," Yselle's words may not be the best news V'lano has heard all day, but nevertheless they're delivered firmly. "Especially these hard to reach spots. You'd have felt that soon, I think. Maybe even... have you been itchy under your arm for no good reason? That could have been this. Once you get in tune with that," and isn't that timely, delivered on top of I'sai's speech, "it'll be a lot harder to miss spots. If you do, /you'll/ feel it. You can tune it out, of course, but first you have to tune it /in/." She ducks back out, and says "Every rider oils differently. Me, I start wherever Dianneth wants it the most, but yes, I work from one end to the other, depending on which end I'm closest to. Getting a system might not be a bad idea. Does he need more meat? Let's get some oil and start on this right away."

"Yes sir," Claret replies promptly as I'sai moves onward. Distracted by a writhing Avrieth, though, she turns her attention to the spot she's oiling. "I know it tickles and itches, but if I don't oil it, then you'll itch even more and then I'll feel like I'm itching too, and then we'll both be in a predicament. Stop trying to look," she concludes in exasperation as Avrieth's neck keeps moving under her hand.

M'tri pauses, blinks, agrees, "So I am...whoops." So, he reaches for a towel, nearly falls over, but retrieves the object to wipe off his hand and then, very gently, the small area he's managed to finish. Daikoth simply stares at the weyrlingmaster, then replies, "No...he did it to me too, Dai. He's just playing with you. Yes, I know you don't think it's funny." And then, in case I'sai has missed it, "He doesn't think it's funny." Despite it, M'tri's chuckling. He wipes his hand again, clearing it of oil to make sure another piece of meat is properly smooshed and give it to Daikoth. Wipe, oil.

I'sai glances over towards Sonaith's young rider as she addresses him, but waits to answer till he's a little further along with M'tri; to the latter, "What was that? He doesn't think it's funny?" There's that hint of grin again, just a hint, before he walks around Daikoth and gives him a good looking-over, cueing him to stretch out those wings - "Nice coloration he's got - " and after a while says, "Watch the hard-to-reach spots especially, though. Like on top of his wingbases, as opposed to below which is easier, or between his neckridges, between the talons on his paws. That sort of thing. If it's a pain to reach, it probably needs it more - sorry about that." He stays in range in case the novice bluerider applies, but does turn to Breena now, "And, let me guess, sometimes more than one of those at the same time? Distinguishing yourselves, that'll be something you'll work on - but even if some pairs seem like they're handling it more easily just now, don't worry about it. She's still really young. You're doing just fine. Ever tried sending her something that -you- taste?"

"Every inch. Okay, er." V'lano focuses, staring up at the under-wing area in question and down to a rear leg suddenly suspicious in terms of possible dry spots. "I don't know about tuning it out," he adds, ruefully, and as he goes around to the other side, nearer the tubs, to choose another strip-steak of sorts for his lifemate to enjoy while being spot-inspected head to toe, an idle hand scratches the back of one elbow.

T'bay has connected.

J'len has connected.
Cantaneth has arrived.

Sonaith croons a greeting to I'sai, while Breena's hand rests lightly, tendelry on the top of the green's head, nodding her agreement. "Yeah. Hard to tell where she stops and I start sometimes. It's easier now than it was at first--I probably fallen head first into the oil vats the first sevenday or so, she falls asleep so fast. But...uh, no, I haven't tried sending her something I taste. It...um, it hasn't really occured to me ever." Pause. "Not til now."

Claret wrinkles her nose as tries to oil despite the squirming, pushing her free hands ineffectually against Avrieth's neck. "Move, you, or I shan't be able to get--No, stretch. Please," she adds again as an afterthought before lapsing into silence, though it's interspersed with occasional remonstrances, along with the response to remonstrances she's given.

Yselle, on her way to the oil, levels I'sai a look; her lip is tugging and threatening a smile, a /smile/. She manages to settle on a gruff sort of "Hmf," though, even if the gruffness isn't /that/ convincing. With that, she helps herself to the oil and two sets of paddles, and heads back to V'lano. "Will he let me touch him?" she asks. "If you can continue feeding him - make sure you wipe your hands between meat and oil, but get to work on that rough spot, and I'll check him over for any other problem areas."

Early days in the Barracks

2006-08-08T01:59:00Z

Hatching, Part 1

2006-08-08T01:40:07Z

Candidate Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This cavern has a rather low ceiling, with many openings for air, since this becomes an abode for a large number of people before every hatching. Every inch of the floor is kept clean, although little of it can be seen due to the many rows of cots that fill most of the space. The central part of the cavern is rather dim, as most of the glows are on the walls. Little decoration is evidenced except for a few personal effects. You wouldn't call it uncomfortable unless the unusually low ceiling for a weyr makes you claustrophobic. On the wall, scrupulously maintained, is a list of Candidates and their assigned chores for the day. Tampering with it is rumored to be an offense punishable by death or latrine duty for the rest of one's life.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
FL: Tinker
PLAYERS: Breena Tobay Lanisa Velano Claret Metri

Obvious Exits:
Lower Caverns

Leeana emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Leeana has arrived.

Leeana
Hazel eyes with flecks of gold are rested in her slightly tan face. Freckles dust the bridge of her nose, and her high cheekbones. Her heavily curling dark-brown hair falls just above her bottom. Her voice is fairly deep, and very mystical. When she sings, she can fill the room with her voice without even trying hard, and drown out all noise if she must. At 22 Turns, 7 months, and 26 days, she weighs around 133 pounds, and she is roughly 5' 8". Her footfall is light, and she is very swift in her movements.

Leeana is wearing the ceremonial, black and white candidate robe of Telgar Weyr. Seems to be hand-made by her, beautifully clean and stitched well. Today's the day! She also wears a silver-colored ring on her right ring finger. She now proudly wears the knot of Candidate at Telgar Weyr on her right shoulder area of the tunic.
Carrying:
Fiona

Once more, Breena is soaking wet as she comes into the barracks, but at least this time, she's running a towel over her head instead of dripping her way over to her cot. "Just once, I'd like to *not* get tipped head first into the water by some sneaky tail. Just *once*."

Velano wends his way in not long after, cream-filled pastry in one hand and a meatroll with a burnt cheese crisping on top, taking alternating bites in his best, but unintentional, impression of his holdmate. He makes a short, gulping swallow of the savory half of his mid-chores snack, clearing his mouth to call after Breena's wet back, "Whose sneaky tail this time?"

"Sneaky tails!" Tobay responds from near his recently rebuilt cot, "Mind those stomping feet! They do damage. A bath, not so bad in comparison." He gives Breena a grin as she enters, rises from retying his shoe to catch Velano's snack moves. "Ohh, good form. Good form." He applauds politely.

Gevra has connected.

Breena flumps onto her cot, shaking her head. "I'm not even sure who it was--some blue, I think. Remember how I said sometimes that they all meld together?" Her brow furrows at Tobay, though. "Did you get stepped on?"

Claret follows not too far behind, brushing dust off of her person absently as she steps through the door. Just in time to hear the applause, her glance wavers curiously between Breena and Tobay. "Stepped on? Blue?" she echoes, making her way to her cot.

The butcher's son finds his way to a washbasin, passing up his cot with a weary, wishful look at its invitingly sheeted surface on his way by. "I don't know how you can say that," he chuckles, beginning at scrubbing dirt and greenish plant-vein stains from his fingernails the pads of his thumbs. "Though the blues, maybe. I could see it. Especially from the tail end."

Tobay lifts his booted foot, rests it on the end of the cot, points to an indent marring the metal reinforced tip. "Dragon track," he sagely describes, the great tracker at work. "Didn't get me too badly today, the lovely brute, but last time I scrubbed that one...ach."

Metri, while not the epitome of calmness, isn't much of a pacer; however, that's what he's doing anyways, obviously, as he brushes aside the curtain, and completely bypasses his own cot in favor of trucking a small circle in the middle of the aisle. A handful of tarts is quickly being devoured as he walks, stuffing half of one in his mouth. Poor lad; anticipation has turned him into a drone.

Claret peers at Tobay's boot curiously. "You mean, you got stepped on by a dragon? But aren't they very big? Wouldn't you be hurt dreadfully, after that?" Attention drawn away by Metri's entrance and pacing, she remarks, "Y'know, Metri, you might wear a hole in your boots or something if you're not careful."

"Ouch!" says Breena to Tobay, once more shaking her head. "That doesn't sound pleasant. Didn't..." She nods at Claret, brow furrowed. "Didn't it hurt?" At Velano's comment, she shrugs, "It's just... I don't know. Too many of them, maybe. Something."

"Good thing you've kept on wearing those boots," Velano replies, with a smartaleck grin, toward his fellow Lemosian youth. He drains the basin and sets the pitcher in place for the next person to use it, then slings a small towel from the stack into his hands. While drying his face, he wends through cots toward Breena's. "I think," he remarks, drily, "He's exaggerating the drama."

Tobay traces the indentation along the metal with the tip of one finger, "Just the very edge of one of the toes, went right across here. You can almost see the tracings of the hide, see?" Yeah, if one had microscope vision, maybe, but he's fascinated by the imprint, nonetheless. "Yeah, it hurt." Sage dramatic nods. One hand goes to his forehead, "Poor me!"

Kaetan has connected.

Claret leans forward, scrutinizing Tobay's boot in an attempt to develop said microscopic vision. "Can you really? That's very exciting. Are you going to try to get one to match on your other boot too?" Squinting, she comments, "After all, I can't see much there. Maybe if it were a bigger dragon? But don't worry," she supplies graciously. "I'll save you, if that dragon's -too- big."

K'ran emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
K'ran has arrived.

Tarien emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Tarien has arrived.

K'ran pulls up short from a sprint into the barracks, quite nearly bowling over one younger Candidate from Lemos. He barks, in Weyrleader Voice -- the one used for dealing with truculent wingriders -- "EVERYBODY UP. Dragons are humming, eggs are moving. Showtime, showtime, showtime! INTO THOSE ROBES, *NOW*!"

Velano pauses at the foot of Breena's cot, twisting the towel in his hands before slinging it over his shoulder for safekeeping. "I told you he was exaggerating," he smirks at the blonde. Harsh orders cause his head to jerk upward, however, and his dark eyes widen. "They are? They are? We are? We're what?" Easily panicked, the butcher bolts toward his own home-away-from-home, dodging other beds as he goes.

Kaetan puts his hide down and stands up. He picks up the robe and starts to put it on, but then realizes the he is trying to stick his head in the arm hole. He looks around the room and grins at Velano's dodging. "Be careful there Vel. You might break your leg before you get out onto the sands."

I'sai emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
I'sai has arrived.

Bronwynn emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Bronwynn has arrived.

I'sai saunters in, Brynn at his side, amazingly unhurried for someone who's going to be getting a really big job really, really soon.

Breena opens her mouth to say something to Velano, but the Weyrleader's bellowing is, well, rather distracting. "N..uh? What? Now?" She goes pale, but hops to her feet and ties her hair back, then proceeds to fumble with getting her robe and sandals out of her press.

Tobay, standing at his cot with one foot up, looks at his shoe, looks at Claret adoringly. "My valiant protector. You can help me in my quest to be squashed by a dragon. Then," he drops his booted foot to the floor, edging to the side to regain his balance as the Weyrleaders enter, screaming, "You can tell my parents.--robes? Robes, now? Ah, shells. Oh, where did I--" He turns, manages to locate the robe, commences undress clumsily while fumbling it around.

Emilly emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Emilly has arrived.

"*Dress*," K'ran barks. "Don't talk. Don't think. Dress, and then line up. *Move.*" Evidently this is a matter of some urgency.

From the deepest depths of the Weyr, the hum begins, below the threshold of hearing at first, but unmistakable as it grows ever louder.

Gevra sets aside the sewing she was doing and pulls on her Candidate's robes.

Tobay gets the outer layers of his clothing peeled, pausing to undo the boot lacings and toss them aside, feet cramming into sandals while his arms and head find the right set of holes in the white sack. "Lining up. Lining up!" He steps forward, joins the growing line, wipes his hair back from his face.

Velano uses the damp towel to mash down his too-short-for-tiebacks curls, flattening them against his scalp somewhat ineffectively, then scrambles about beneath his cot for the fresh-made robe and the much-scuffed, many-Standings-abused sandals beneath it. Everyday clothes are tossed in rumpled piles on his cot, and soon the butcher's son is presentable for newly-hatched dragons. Hapless, he shoves off toward the tail of the line.

Metri freezes his pacing, stares at K'ran in disbelief (maybe it's all some huge prank?), then, in a fluid movement, /leaps/ at his press. Because Velano covers all his questions, he accomplishes his bit of digging and grabs his robes. He fares a bit better than Kaetan, and after a few moments, he's actually got it all right. If he's twitching a bit in the garment. The humming gets him moving quickly, and after making sure his arms and head are in the proper holes, he lines up as he's ordered. No thinking indeed.

Leeana shrugs hastily into her robe, a grin pasted on her features. "Can you believe it? It's actually starting, after all this time!" Then her sandals get stuck on the corner of her cot, and she has to focus on those.

Niella emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Niella has arrived.

Claret blinks at K'ran's first set of orders, not quite getting the message. As candidates start scrambling for their robes, though, she refrains from making any further comments, immediately ducking over and opening her chest, rifling through it and pulling out her robe and sandals. Hastily pulling the affair over her head, and jamming the sandals onto her feet, she hops over to join the others in line.

Amarie emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Amarie has arrived.

Jaleran emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
Jaleran has arrived.

Breena changes into her robe as quickly as she's able, pale and shaking, with not much of a care for modesty. It takes several attempts for her to actually get her sandals onto her feet, but once she finally does so, she quickly ties her hair back and scoots into line.

Kaetan finally pulls the robe over his head the right way and tries to tie the belt. His fingers don't seem to want to work as he glances up to his candidate mates. "You would think I would remember how to tie a belt by now. Shards." He leans over and pulls on his sandals making sure they are secure. As he straightens out his brown eyes look at everyone and he grins. "Well this is it."

Tarien's not terribly loud, but she does hustle her way through the line of cots, offering helping hands here and there. "Come on, quickly now, they won't wait for you!"

Lanisa didn't really need to be told it seems, as she slips in with several of those who'd still be on duty. She makes straight to her cot, or rather press and quickly starts changing into her sandals and robes. "You ready, Trii?"

Niella bursts in, pelting for her cot, tearing off her clothing with a reckless abandon, getting ready for her robe. She grabs at the robe as it hangs on the hook above her bed, and shimmies into it, kciking off he rboots and throwing them across the floor. She then slips her feet into the pre-set sandals, and breathes ehavily trying to calm herself down. That not working, she looks around, eyes wild, as she piles her hair onto her head in braids, tying the brainds down with wherhide. She glances at the others. "HATCHING!" she says, as if they don't know, and pelts back out towards the bowl. No socializing! It's an EMERGENCY! HATCHING!!!

Emilly ducks into the room, looking about with a rather bright-eyed expression. She joins the Weyrlingmaster and Bronwynn with only a quiet. "Is, Bronwynn," by way of greeting.

Amarie runs in late, with Jaleran. She lets go of his hand the moment they are in the barracks, having been drug along at top speed. A deep breath is taken, her face red from the sprint across the bowl towards the place where their robes and sandals are. She breathes in heavily through her nose and mouth, walking over to her clothespress to open it and dig through for her robe and sandals.

I'sai stands aside for the most part - "Not much time," he tells Amarie, Jaleran, at once unhurried but very direct. "Emilly. Remembering when it was you?" and he looks from them to the candidates all over again, assessing, _inspecting_.

Bronwynn does follow I'sai like a shadow, a silent, watchful shadow. Her gaze picks over each of the candidates, though whatever judgements she's making is completely hidden. She turns to smile as Emilly joins them, giving her a nod. "Hi."

Tobay responds to the shouting and the humming and to the general level of energy present. He wriggles side to side, anxious, while he manages to get close enough to the basin to wet his hands, keeping his hair back from his face.

Metri says "Oh yeah," but can't seem to muster up his usual sarcasm. He is shifting uncomfortably, still pulling on one of the sandals with a half-hearted grimace. At Niella's entrance, however, he manages a nervous and shaky chuckle.

When she finds that quiet isn't helping, Tarien, too, lifts her voice: "STAY HERE! You will change into your robes, NOW, and line up along the wall. In pairs." Then, a quick smile for K'ran, and she says, more quietly, to I'sai, "Would you like to usher them out, or shall we?"

Jaleran bursts thorugh the curtained entrance with Amarie, already pulling his robe on over his clothes as he'd started keeping it with him. Just in case. He jogs to his cot and kicks his boots into his press as soon as it is open. His shirt and pants get pulled off from under his robe and join them before he takes his broad-soled sandals out of the sack on his back and pulls them on. "Sorry we're late. Brothers visiting." He's slightly out of breath as he closes his press when the sandals are on and heads straight for the place indicated by the Weyrwoman.

Velano shakes visibly, though his expression is schooled and his voice unused. He turns this way and that in line, looking for Breena who is, after all, not far away. Across his holdmate, he holds out a hand to her, then draws it back to offer it to Tobay himself, shaking wordless congratulations and well-wishes in utter solemnity.

Claret appears ready to catch the contagious wriggling, fidgeting and bending over to make sure the sandals she shoved on are buckled properly and won't desert her at an inopportune moment. As her hair falls in her face, she looks up, and running back to her cot begins a slightly panicked search for a strip of weyrhide. Tie in hand, she dodges back to the line.

Kaetan finishes inspecting himself and moves over towards the wall to stand. He smiles at the others as he runs his fingers through his unruly hair. He addresses Claret, "You nervous?"

I'sai looks over, studying the weyrwoman for a thoughtful moment; he says then, "You're welcome to, if you like," and shows her a bright, white grin. "I'll be ushering them - some of them - the other way, after all."

Gevra stands against the wall as directed. She's ready and stands waiting calmly, watching with some distaste the candidates who are still rushing around.

Breena squeezes Velano's hand as it's offered, then grabs fistfuls of her robe, watchful, waiting for the next set of instructions.

Tobay takes a quick breath, deems himself presentable, tugs his robe down, smoothes it. "Pairs. Right." He shakes with Velano, somber, smiles to Breena, steps back somewhere between Claret, Kaetan, and Gevra. "Pair, anyone? I'm good, except for the sweaty palms."

Amarie doesn't apologize for being late. Nobody knows when dragonets will hatch until that humming starts. She remains calm, the only signs she is nervous is her hands shaking as they pull her robe out of her clothes press. She lays it on the cot and finds her sandals. Slamming the press shut she pulls off her boots and puts on the sandals. Next she changes into the robe and in the few minutes it takes her to complete herself, she finds a tie and pulls back her hair binding it into a tail behind her back.

Lanisa digs again in her press after she managed to get dressed, "I know I have something..." But then she glances over at Metri and grins, "Don't worry, about it. Just no blinding." A joke of sorts it seems and then she finds what she was digging for, a bit of wherhide for her hair as she starts moving towards the line.

Niella stops her pell mell pelting when the calm voices of the weyrfolk pierce her panic. She stops at the entrance, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. "Hatching!" she says, seeming to be stuck on that. She looks around wild-eyed, but she moves over towards the wall, trying to see who she'll be paired up with. She scuffles her feet to get her feet into her sandals, and twitches at the hem and sides of her robe, trying to get it into place. She looks to Tarien and I'sai, trying to get herself under control. She moves to stand near Tobay. "Sure" she says, out of breath, still

Tarien smiles at I'sai, nods, and makes her way toward a thick, unmoving tapestry, which she pulls back to reveal a door, which is then opened. "By pairs, then -- when I call out your name, please step through the door. Claret and Velano, you first!"

Leeana *finally* gets her sandals on, her robe in place, and her smile back where it belongs. It had faded momentarily when she became frustrated with the poor shoe that got stuck on her cot.

Kaetan snaps his head up as Tarien calls out the first. "Oh my gosh. Its time already. It can't be time already." He nods to Tobay and goes to stand next to him. "I'll pair unless Tarien pairs us up with someone else."

Velano offers his hand next to Claret, the same symbolic offering of hope and comeradeship to the whole of the candidate contingent -- then, named, his eyes widen, and the gesture becomes one of urging: come on, come on, that's us! And he heads for the door as directed.

Gevra looks Tobay over, he's dressed correctly, then waves to him. "I don't have a partner yet."

K'ran lingers by the door, as if to keep tabs on what's happening beyond for all that he's not quite *looking*. As Tarien begins calling out names, he shakes free of that seeming reverie, the better to inspect candidates on their way out, and insure that the dress code's abided.

Metri snatches up Lanisa as she walks towards the line, saying, "You're the other part of my pair, and if you leave me I'll personally kill you." The threat has little validation, and he grins. "Well, shards, I was going to blind for the sake of it."

Claret looks back with wide eyes at the candidates standing near her, the shuffling steps she had begun to take and any answers forgotten as she takes Velano's hand and follows toward the door, darting a nervous glance at the candidates behind.

You enter the passage to the hatching sands. The tunnel goes to the north some ways, and then curves, heading eastward.

Hatching Sands
This is the immense cavern containing the hatching grounds of Telgar Weyr. It stretches for several hundred feet across, and even farther in length. To the north is the large mound of sands used by the queens for their clutches. Looking up along the high walls of the cavern, the ledges where dragons and their riders observe the hatchings are visible. Much of the eastern wall is dominated by the galleries, where row upon row of tiers are capable of seating hundreds of people.
Contents:
DRAGONS: Alzaeth Liabeth
PLAYERS: D'mon Claret Gay
OTHER: Clutch

Obvious Exits:
Galleries

Velano emerges from the candidate barracks.
Velano has arrived.

Heracle> Tarien calls out, "Lanisa and Niella, you're next."
Heracle> Niella says "Tobay? Shall we go? Or want to go with Gevra?"
Heracle> Amarie moves to stand near Jaleran as she says, "This is it," Her voice sounds a bit higher pitched in frequency. She waits for her name to be called, looking at Tarien.

Velano makes his way onto the sands, his first steps hesitant, the unaccustomed head through the sandal-soles giving him pause. After a moment for adjustment he gains his stride and keeps pace with Claret, casting a worried glance back over his shoulder toward the caverns from which they came.

Heracle> Tobay grins at those nearby, "Looks like they know we're in no mental state to pick, since they're calling." He waves to his holdmate and Claret, encouragingly, then the same to Lanisa and Niella. "Go on, go on!"

Heracle> Niella nods, and goes with Lanisa. "shall we?" she says, still nearly panicing?
Heracle> Lanisa giggles at Metri as he takes her hand and they the join the line, "I've not forgotten, we're in this together." Then quieter, "It'll be fine, thought blinding might have been interesting." To Niella she pauses though, "If we can go in threes?"

Heracle> Tarien claps her hands and shoos the latest pair toward the door. "Quickly now, step lively -- they are -not- going to wait for you. Go now, no time for chatter."

Gay stifles a laugh as the candidates make their way out, taking D'mon's hand and putting on a wide, bright smile - which becomes genuine as soon as she turns to look as the group of white robes coming out of the barracks.

Niella emerges from the candidate barracks.
Niella has arrived.

Heracle> Kaetan smiles at Lanisa. "Good luck you two." He shifts back and forth in nervous energy
Heracle> I'sai gives certain hand-holders a dark look - and grins at Tarien all over again; he leans back to mutter to Emilly and Bronwynn, "... Healers... lot of them..."

Lanisa emerges from the candidate barracks.
Lanisa has arrived.

Claret minces her steps, her own head turned over her shoulder as well to watch the other candidates filing in behind. Chewing her lip, she nudges Velano. "Do we wait for all the rest, or do we go over there, or..." Eyeing the eggs, she fidgets uncomfortably.

Heracle> Tarien, once Lanisa and Niella have finally gone, calls out, "Tobay and Breena, please. Quickly, now."

Breena emerges from the candidate barracks.
Breena has arrived.

Heracle> Tobay holds out a hand to his identified partner, his green eyes bright with excitement. "C'mon. They'll find us if they're meant to, but probably not in here." This said, he takes off after Breena.

Tobay emerges from the candidate barracks.
Tobay has arrived.

Heracle> "Kaetan and Leeana, please," Tarien requests.

Niella moves in from the entry chamber, looking around very very nervously. She glances at the one egg she'd liked the most, and then gulped, heavily, moving towards the semi-circle forming around the eggs, as they had been instructed.
You paged Ellery with 'Oh help. Now I'm -really- nervous. Good luck!'.

Heracle> Kaetan smiles at Leeana and holds out his hand. "Well here we go. REady?"
Heracle> Leeana gulps, but quietly, and makes her way towards the exit. There she takes the offered hand with a tacit nod, and steps out.

Kaetan emerges from the candidate barracks.
Kaetan has arrived.

Leeana emerges from the candidate barracks.
Leeana has arrived.

Heracle> Jaleran nods to Amarie, right now unable to find his voice. Watching the others go out to the sands as their names are called, he waits to hear his own name.

Heracle> Tarien shoos yet another pair toward the door. "Gevra and Metri, you next."

Metri emerges from the candidate barracks.
Metri has arrived.

Kaetan holds onto Leeana's hand and smiles at her. He notices how nervous she is. "Hey this will be fun right? We just have to deal with burning our feet." He chuckles softly trying to calm them both.

Gevra emerges from the candidate barracks.
Gevra has arrived.

Heracle> Tarien calls put pairs name by name, then, at least, calls out the remaining two: "Jaleran and Amarie, please." And, with a smile to the others, she adds, "I think we're good to go out now, as well."

Heracle> Amarie hears Roberta's name called somewhere before hers and sticks her tongue out at the gossipy girl as she goes by. Then her own name is spoken and so she follows in the wake of Roberta looking over to Jaleran for support before stepping out of the barracks to take her place on the sands.

Amarie emerges from the candidate barracks.
Amarie has arrived.

Jaleran emerges from the candidate barracks.
Jaleran has arrived.

Kaetan looks around the area to see if he can find some famaliar faces in the crowd.

Leeana shuffles onto the sands, wincing at the hot stuff beneath her. She still wears a grin though, even though she feels her feet are going to burn off. She looks appreciatively at Kaetan. "You're doing alright, then?" She's anxious!

Heracle> I'sai glances at Emilly and Brynn - nods - and then goes.

I'sai emerges from the candidate barracks.
I'sai has arrived.

Bronwynn emerges from the candidate barracks.
Bronwynn has arrived.

D'mon bounces in place in the hot hatching sands, grinning up at his lifemate. "So exciting," he says to Gay, with that foolish grin still on his face. "What color d'you think we'll see first?"

Heracle> K'ran tips a look toward the Weyrlingmaster staff, then flashes Tarien a quick smile before following after.

K'ran emerges from the candidate barracks.
K'ran has arrived.

Gevra steps through the entrance with Metri by her side, but quickly distances herself from the boy. Her robe is neat and well made. His is... not.

Tarien emerges from the candidate barracks.
Tarien has arrived.

Liabeth hums low and long and loud, trying not to hover over the twitching eggs - but doing a very poor job of it. The gold is eyeing the clutch and candidates both as Gay shoots her a warning look. "Back off, Lia... Let 'em go,' she mutters. To D'mon; "Um... maybe green - there's lots of 'em, after all."

As the candidates begin to shuffle out on the sands one by one, or in pairs and sometimes in groups of three or more, they all manage to pause at least once right before Liabeth and Alzaeth. In that brief moment upon which they look at the gold dam and bronze sire of the clutch hatching around them, the candidates give a bow of honor to the parents. They nod respectfully and bow once more towards Gay and D'mon both before moving to find a place around the multitude of flamboyant eggs on the sands.

Kaetan nods to his candiate mate and smiles. "I'm doing alright. Looking for my family. Will you have family here too?" He walks along following the others in front of them.

Lanisa makes her way out behind, or sort of with Niella as they approach the semi circle that's forming, though she's making sure there's enough space for Metri's pairing alongside where they end up in place. She doesn't mind his robe after all. A quick grin that way and then she's watching the eggs.

Tobay steps out toward the sands, takes a deep breath, falls into line, joins the bow, approaches the semi-circle, then spares a glance for the galleries, aims to break the tension, "Good thing they can't smell my feet from here."

Metri makes quick work of sidling closer to Lanisa as she does the same with her partner, almost hiding behind her but vetoing the idea sternly. Almost, but not quite. He gives a /look/ at Gevra, but searches for Lani's hand with his own as he says, "My chest is compressed."

Niella gulps nervously and loudly. Clearly, she's scared out of her mind, but still is standing high and proud on the sands. "Do you think they'll start near us?" she asks Lanisa, and looks around, still completly worried about things.

Emilly emerges from the candidate barracks.
Emilly has arrived.

Leeana keeps her place in line, but has a bit of trouble with it, as she's doing the Hatching-dance on the hot sands along with everyone else. She replies to Kaetan, "I-I'm not really sure. Which of your family's here?"

The Chaotic Chip Count Egg and Whirling Winner's Wheel Egg have been rocking in unison for quite some time - they were the first to start the party off, but the dragonets within are taking their own sweet time about making an entrance. A loud SMACK heralds the first time they smash into one another, and several more violent collisions follow in quick succession. Brown and green tumble out of the eggs - after the first look at one another, they flee in opposite directions, only to find two Candidates from Bitra Hold standing together. "Neyloth!" the tow-haired boy shouts, while the brunette lass next to him offers the name of her new mate: "Teocath!"

Pink Flamingo Egg begins to tremble - just a bit, just sufficient to displace some of the sand around its base. Those more taken with the early Impressions might, in fact, miss its understated rocking.

Velano edges around in the group, finding a spot at Claret's side, yet where he can keep an eye on Breena. The thought of the galleries all but escapes him, despite an elder echo of his face sporting an elder echo of his goofiest grin, leaning hard over the rail from a frontmost seat. Instead, Velano is entirely distracted by the first hatchlings to emerge, gewgawing open-mouthed as they make their speedy choices.

Kaetan looks over as he hears the egg shatter open and the pairing is made. He takes a deep breath as his hand shakes slightly while holding onto Leeana. "Wow that was fast."

Breena's hands are still shaking as the first of the Impressions are made, and she's wide-eyed for it. "Oh...wow, did you see that? I didn't think it'd happen so fast. Does it usually happen like that?"

Leeana gasps with the quickness of the Impression, before her wavery smile returns tentatively to its place. "I can't believe it! That green was lovely, too."

Niella gasps as the first impressions are made. a little EEP comes out of her mouth, as each seems to happen all of a sudden!

Jaleran comes to a halt next to Amarie after the candidates have formed their semicircle around the eggs and shown respect to Liabeth and Alzaeth by bowing to the two dragons. He smiles at Amarie briefly before putting his attention upon the eggs. And not a second too soon as the first two Impressions occur with near-lightnign swiftness.

Kaetan looks up one more time as he takes his place in the semi circle with everyone. He makes room for Leeana to stand with him. He sees D'san and Kaelyn in the stands and offers a quick wave.

Tobay clasps his sweat-laden palms together, wincing at the burning in his momentarily very still feet. "It's not so bad," he grits, teeth ground together and his voice a bare whisper as he scoots near Breena, Claret, and Vel, wide-eyed, "Amazing."

Claret does her own edging through the candidates, chewing away at her lip until she finds herself near both Velano and Tobay. More than ready to be distracted, she grins over at Tobay. But that's short-lived as two Impressions are made in short order. "Oh -my-," are her only words.

Lanisa catches up Metri's hand quick enough and whispers, "We'll be find, Trii. Just, remember what they told us. Did you see that? There was one already." For Niella she shakes her head and answers simply, "Don't know."

Twisted Limbs Egg begins its dance upon the Sands with a rhythmic rocking, slow and steady in these first few moments, as though set to some beat only the hatchling within can hear. Grains of sand slide away from its surface, baring the sinuous patterns beneath just that much more.

Alzaeth bugles a muted welcome to the first of his children to arrive, every inch the proud father. "Aw, cut that out, will you? You're going to deafen me," D'mon mutters.

I'sai snorts a laugh, all right - Tobay - and then as S'fin joins them, nods the bluerider to take both the hatchlings off. The man complies, though he looks much put-upon, and Is borrows his expression to say to Brynn and Emilly, "Not even enough time to -bet- between us, and a simultaneous hatching - wonder how the odds'll work out, whether brown and green will split it or they'll get nothing. Huh." He narrows his eyes, then: on the candidates, the eggs, the sands. Even Gaycia, briefly, and her lifemate's partner. The candidates.

Niella rocks back and forth a little, chewing on her lip, and squeaking a little as the twisted limb egg starts to rock. Her eyes lock on it, almost afraid of what's going to happen.

Velano tears his attention away from the just-impressed to grin foolishly at Breena. Moving toward the blonde, he puts his elbow near hers, his fingertips near hers, offering comfort as best he can from what little store of it he has to give. So much for not clustering up on the sands like fools. With so much to watch, the butcher's all but forgotten his scalding feet.

Breena grins over at Tobay, while still trying to pay attention like she's been told so many times to do. "Not so bad? It's awful! Bet he likes it, though..." She flickers a quick glance the clutch sire's way, smiles up at Velano, then turns her attention back to the eggs, hands still visibly shaking.

Amarie finds her place between Metri and Jaleran, seeking safety between two others much larger than herself. She reaches for Jaleran's hand first before taking Metri's as well. Her gaze flickers to the galleries looking for family. Not seeing them on first sight, her head whips around as she misses the first two impressions. "Ooh!" she nods for Jaleran to look that way. Then she goes watches the other eggs, her eyes occassionally flicking to the galleries again.

K'ran's taken up station toward the back of the sands, nearer the barrier separating the galleries than the hatching. The scene has thrust nostalgia into his smile, and though he bids I'sai and his assistants a quiet, "Good luck," he's as much a fascinated spectator as anyone above.

Liabeth doesn't bugle, but hovers nervously over Gay's shoulder - presumably the furthest the goldrider will let her go at the moment. Still elegant, always, but nervous. She'll let the bronze be proud - she'll do the worrying. Her rider is mostly stunned, tugging on D'mon's hand, brown eyes wide. "Look at 'em. Wow."

Pink Flamingo Egg shivers more noticeably, now, and the beginnings of hairline fractures now mar the vibrant color of its shell. More sand spills away from its base, 'til the egg tips over onto its side.

Leeana sees the space left beside Kaetan and shuffles into it. She follows his wave to the people up above with a squinty look. "Keep your eyes on the sands, I heard at Ista's last Hatching, half a dozen candidates were injured."

It's as if the occupant of the Emptied Pocket Egg can't wait to make an appearance - it rolls over once, shuddering mightily, then it dissolves around a copper-streaked bronze that looks rather startled at his good fortune. Decisive, this one, he makes a beeline for a short boy from Telgar Hold, birth wet wings spread to the heat of the sands. Rilon gapes, but finally, kneels and murmurs, "Calweth?"

Tarien can't help but laugh at the bronze's exhuberance, smiling widely at Gay and D'mon. "First clutch of the Interval -- you're history, imagine," she says, then quick, light steps take her to K'ran's side.

Metri doesn't resist Amarie's hand; his two companions do get a whisper of, "How do they expect us to pay attention when I can't even focus my eyes?" He watches the bronze trace it's unfaltering path, going through the eggs with his gaze, unable to see everything at once.

Niella eeps again, as Imprssion occurs! These short barks of excitement seem to be almost unconcious, as she looks around, gasping for air. She nearly steps forward as the pink egg falls over, having a concern for that one, but she remembers what she was told. "Don't help. Don't touch. Be aware" and steps back, looking over all the eggs.

Twisted Limbs Egg gives an abrupt spin as its occupant increases his or her striving. Purple flashes and red shines, whirling by as the shell gyrates--that stripe of brass appears, and the motion of the egg makes it seem as though the flesh-toned streaks across it are wriggling sinuously.

Tobay fusses briefly with his robe, unsticking where it clings, then seems to remember to be attentive, and focuses on the dragonets and the eggs, murmurs to Breena. "He must be proud. Wonder if these are his first, or if he's been a papa before--oh, oh, the saggy egg one made it!"

The Pink Flamingo Egg gives a rumble and a tumble until it finally comes to rest on its side. Slowly, but assuredly, small cracks and fission work over its mottled surface. In a quick flurry of activity, the shell collapses outwardly at the insistence of the hatchling within. A foot pushes here, the tail presses out there, until eventually a head lifts out. Pushing himself up to standing, there is no wobbling or groping here. The Chairman's Bronze Hatchling knows what's goin' on. With a calculated flip of his talon, he ditches the last bit of shell from his nose and gets this show on the road.

The Chairman's Bronze Hatchling
Like sisal draped over an exquisite frame, the Chairman's Bronze Hatchling is a handsome enough bronze to make a bobby-socker out of anyone. Deliciously proportioned, the glittering bronze is copper flecked, dragging itself from the tip of his devilishly rakish nose, across his barrelled chest, catching the ripples and curves of his portending strength throughout his legs, until it finishes at the suave curvature of his tail. A finely sifted gold catches at his very edges, brightest and boldest in his wings. It gives him a refined sophistication with just enough glitz to make him seem like a challenge.
He moves with a confident swagger across the sands, sizing things up with a careless disregard. It's almost more of a strut then a stride, the nonchalant way he flicks his tail and the unconcerned way he cranes his neck. He's large, he's in charge, and he's here to pick himself rider, capiche?

Kaetan looks over at the others. "Did you see that great looking bronze. He knew who he wanted." He shifts from one foot to the other, not really noticing the warmth, but meerly from nervousness and excitement. He watches the eggs move and break open one by one.

Emilly shakes her head distractedly in answer to I'sai's muttered comment. "You know I don't bet ..." she says quietly, eyes darting about the Sands to mark each new Impression.

Velano bends his left knee, lifting the foot just a bit off the sand, shaking it to free heated grains from the sandal's innersole. "Oh, look," he murmurs, pointing first at the bronze from Tobay's beloved 'soggy' egg, then, with a catch in his throat, "Oh, look," again at the next bronze to come free from brilliant-hued shell.

Gevra steps away as the bronze hatchling heads straight for the boy she was standing next to. As he helps his lifemate off of the sands, she steps back into line with the other candidates.

Claret shivers convulsively, never mind the heat of the sands, shuffling sideways until she's next to Tobay. "I think it's his first," she responds in place of Breena. "He said--Oh!" she breaks off as another hatchling makes its way out of an egg, commenting needlessly, "It's a bronze!"

Lanisa whispers in return as she taps her foot against the opposite leg to knock a bit of sand from out of her sandals, "It's too much to see at once, aye." But then she gives a quick look to Niella as she repeats the instructions and she gives a grin both to her and then Trii.

"A second bronze," K'ran marvels to Tarien in an aside, as she nears. "You ever think you'll get used to this?"

Julisin has arrived.

Yselle has arrived.

Niella shivers, and tenses, worried the bronzes will come her way. She oohs at how pretty they are, though, and murmurs, as she steps back a moment. "WOW" she says, maybe the wonder is starting to break out of the fear?

Jaleran's eyes widen as the rock-steady bronze breaks shell. His jaw drops slightly as the hatchling starts forward without so much as a wobble. He glances towards Metri and Amarie from the corner of his eye, mainly at Amarie, before quickly putting his gaze forward again. He doesn't let go of Amarie's hand but he looks like he's poised to spring out of the way if any of the dragonets decide to blunder their way.

Dancing Fountains Egg didn't just move, no, not at all. It's just sitting here... but close inspection just might reveal the sand trickling away from its tenderly-built base. Once it finally does start moving, the rocking motions it makes are slight, as if it's swaying to some Harper ballad that only the dragonet within can hear.

The Twisted Limbs Egg gives a final shimmy-shake, its curving patterns writhing wildly in the moment it takes the hatchling within to pound free. At last they collapse, falling to the Sands in pieces as ragged as the breathing of the newborn blue hatchling who strides forward, revealed.

Confident Conspicuous Consumption Blue Hatchling
It may vex this dragon later in life that he was not born with a coloration that lends itself easily to grandeur. The deep, solid navy of his hide is serviceable, but not flashy; it's the shade someone of sober nature and little imagination might choose for his formal clothes. Nor does his build distinguish him, because although the promise of length and power is written beneath his hatchling curves for those who know how to read it, he is neither inordinately muscular nor possessed of special grace. Only the ripple of lighter blues that crowns his headknobs and eyeridges may make him stand out at first glance--until he opens his wings. Then and only then may one see how his color at once lightens and intensifies there, streaking brighter and brighter as it nears sail's edge until it finally shares a hue with the heart of living flame. Yet for all their brilliance, even wings are outdone by the confidence that burns so strongly in him, visible in the assurance of his bearing; outdone again by the fire in his gleaming eyes, windows to the determination that will carry him always.

Gay is suddenly a little pale as Tarien mentions history, but then there's bronzes all over and not much time to pay attention. Liabeth rumbles approvingly as the eggs shatter and lifemates are found.

Amarie watches the bronze break shell. Her own glance falls on the two men between her, Metri and Jaleran, before traveling down the candidate line, gaze seeking out the men whom the bronze might choose. Further down, her gaze flies to the galleries as she sees familiar hands waving. Her face brightens seeing her whole family in the galleries. One hand releases Metri's momentarily as she waves to them, but then she lowers it back. She turns her head just in time to see the blue hatching from its shell.

Leeana takes a step sidways towards Lanisa, and searches for another hand to squeeze. She's anxious! "How are you doing?" She lifts one foot, then another, then the other. "So /hot/!"

Unassuming, quiet, almost withdrawn, the Gold Spike Egg has been shaking its way toward the inevitable. Once the blue within finally makes his appearance, in fact, it may well go unnoticed by most. He sits, cerulean blue wings spread and belly slung low, absorbing the heat beneath him, studying - it seems - the knees of the white-robed figures before him. It's only encouragement from dam and sire that get him moving, and he rather timidly makes his choice - everyone's favorite gossip, the brown-eyed Roberta, who looks like she's been hit in the back of the head with a frying pan. "Serath, I knew you'd find me...but you're...you're blue!"

Niella oooos, and looks with what can only be admiration for the wings of the beutiful blue dragon as it breaks shell. The bronzes are not FORGOTTEN, but they're definatly now less critical, as she watches the blue avidly.

The Chairman's Bronze Hatchling gathers himself up into an elegant coil after shaking off a stray bit of shell, and at first seems content to preen from the ruin of egg in which he sits. But those eyes, threatening hungry crimson, yearn for the line of candidates... and so he picks up his feet and, one confident step after another, begins a slow and measured stride in their direction.

"Wouldn't hurt you," I'sai says to Emilly. "So long as you don't bet what you can't afford to lose - " He tilts K'ran a nod as reply, then, a certain appreciation of the gesture in his own, and gauges the sands all over again; as dragonets hatch, he cues assistants to play escort, S'fin staying in the barracks just at the moment - only - "_Shells_. Brynn, take her away."

Breena gapes. "Wow, look at that bl--..." She stops, stares. "Roberta got blue. BLUE!" she crows, peeking over at Amarie. "Blue!"

Tobay smiles at Gevra, "Good call," he praises her safety. To Claret, "His first, then...wow, look at that one. Such attitude." He shakes his head, spares a peek for the clutchpapa, looks back quickly to the sands, "Berta! Oh my. Look, look!"

Yselle emerges from the direction of the weyrling barracks, running her hands over her trousers, and adjusting her new knot. She bows to the clutchparents, of course, but focusses her attention on the commotion on the sands, nodding distractedly to the other weyrlingmasters, and even more so to Weyrleader-types. She heads over to I'sai and the others. "Don't bet against I'sai," she advises Emilly.

Tarien shakes her head, with a fond smile up at K'ran, "I never do -- I don't think I ever will. Do you?"

Metri gives Amarie's hand one reassuring squeeze; it's about all he can muster, what with trembling beside her. He raises Lani's hand with his own as he points to the blue, staring after it; the second blue earns his attention before he demands, "What's wrong with that poor dragon?" However, he releases the girl's hand to cup them around his mouth and call, "Congratulations Roberta!"

Velano shudders deeply, terror, anticipation, and wonder mixing to form something even his tell-all eyes can't describe. His hands clasp one another, knuckles going white, but Breena's callout catches his attention off of the empowered bronze and onto the blue in Roberta's sphere of affection. A grin momentarily soothes his nerves, then another blue's emergence draws his gaze.

Pre-Hatching Meeting

2006-08-08T01:30:49Z

Holes with socks, sopping accidents...

2006-08-08T01:29:55Z

Inner Cavern(#1272RJL$)
This huge cavern lies within the bowels of Telgar Weyr. The ceiling above, somewhat darkened, seems to be black in the dim light of the glows. Under this blackness, it's almost a hive. A large part of this cavern is a place where the lower cavern work is done: washing, making, remaking - endless chatter and noise concentrated around islands of bright glowlight. People come and go from several tunnels to the east and west, adding to general movement. There are several more secluded places with a table and few chairs, used by more idle folk for gaming or chat.
In the southwestern part of the cavern, a small opening in the dark seems to be overlooked by everyone, and quite unused.
From here there is a large entrance into the Living Cavern, the center of activity of the Weyr. There are also smaller entrances leading off into the weyrfolk quarters, the tunnel to the steam baths, candidate barracks, and a corridor leading to the Nursery.
Several corridors also lead to quarters for the more permanent members of the Weyr. You may '+view residents', '+view crafters', or '+view staff' to see them.

Contents:
Eugenian

Obvious exits:
Weyr Entrance Living Cavern Candidate Barracks INFirmary Nursery Steam Baths Corridor Weyrfolk Quarters

Eugenian whistles to himself as he sits with a polishing rag in one hand and his boot in the other. He puts a lot of force into the effort he gives polishing said boot, his brows furrowed with the effort. As his boots are in his hands, his feet sit on the floor in his socks, big toe sticking out of a hole in the left one.

Claret walks into the inner caverns, each footfall slapping on the floor. Whistling cheerily she slops by Eugenian, and spotting him sitting on the floor she pauses and looks down at him, pulling a dripping piece of hair away from her face. "Hullo. You've got a hole in your sock."

Eugenian glances up from his polishing, missing a beat in the rhythm he had going and his polishing rag skips off the boot. He ers, wiping some polish off his trousers and nods, "Why so I do. And you're dripping."

"I know," Claret replies, smiling cheerfully. "I'm absolutely sopping. I'm on my way to get dry clothing. Now you've gotten polish on yourself. I say, isn't the middle of the caverns an odd place to polish boots? Though, come to think of it, I don't know where is a -good- place to polish boots," she adds, scratching her nose in thought.

Eugenian considers it, "I thought about going outside, but this seemed like a better place. Why are you all wet? And do go change. You can come back and tell me. I wouldn't want you to get sick."

Claret scuffs her feet through the little puddle forming on the floor, shaking her head. "Oh, I'm all right. It's not cold in here or anything. I had dragon washing duty today, and there was a, uh, bit of an accident at the end."

Eugenian goes back to polishing, but with a bit less vigor since he's not entirely paying attention to it. "Really? What sort of an accident? Was it a tidal wave? Did they swamp you?"

Claret shakes her head, causing a few little droplets off water to splatter off it. "No, neither of those, though I must say, a tidal wave would have been interesting. I got on the wrong end of a couple buckets of water, is all. And one of them was soapy! I would have thought that would make me cleaner, but I don't feel the least bit tidier."

Eugenian just shakes his head, mildly bewildered, "From another candidate? That sounds like something my brothers would do to one another. Perhaps you need a bath now to wash off the soap. And a towel or two." He looks around him and offers his tiny, dirty polishing rag, "Well, no, you probably don't want that at all."

"Well, kind of," Claret replies vaguely. "Nobody dumped water on me on -purpose-. I didn't dump water on me on purpose either. I expect I do need a towel, and thanks ever so for offering, but..." Eyeing Eugenian's rag she observes, "That's liable to make it that much worse."

Eugenian nods and quickly goes back to polishing with the rag. "Right. Dirty too." He glances up again and offers ever so helpfully, "Ought I go fetch you a towel or two? And you dumped water on yourself? Well. That's one way to be efficient about seeing that it gets done, I suppose."

Claret looks off toward the entrance to the barracks, shrugging. "Well, you can fetch a couple towels if you like, and it's awfully nice of you to offer, only I expect it would be more sensible for me to go get some from the barracks, because then I can get dry clothing too, and that's altogether the most practical thing, don't you think?" Slicking hair away from her eyes again, she wrinkles her nose. "Efficiency is always good. But it was an accident. Mostly."

Eugenian agrees with a confused sort of amusement. Poor boy. He seems to always have too many warring emotions going on all the time. "Right. Efficiency is good. But accidents happen, I suppose. And practicality is good as well. So go change, but then come back and tell me how it happened. I'm curious!"

Claret sighs regretfully, but slops off to the barracks, holding a finger up. "Okay! I'll be back in a minute!" Returning a few minutes past her promised arrival, her clothes are rumpled and a bit damp, and though she's still dripping slightly, a towel is over her arm.

Eugenian spits on his boot, and rubs it in with a furious motion. He glances up every couple of moments, waiting. When she does reemerge, he stops polishing again and nods, "Alright then, so lets hear the story."

Claret attacks her head just as furiously with her towel for a moment, and withdrawing it, she inspects the floor, trying to decide whether it's worth sitting down. "Well, it's really very innocuous. Not hardly as interesting as your stories, but anyway, one just got spilled on me when we were rinsing, over the neckridge."

Eugenian narrows his eyes slightly, brow furrowed with thought as if he were trying to imagine the situation. He hmms and nods, "Ah...I see. That makes sense. And then one on yourself?"

Claret nods sagely. "Oh, yes, it was very reasonable. And then we were done, and so I was racing someone to see who could get to dump their water out first, only with the buckets on our head, you see, and I spilled mine on me. Not at -all- interesting," she concludes dismissively.

Eugenian suddenly grins, as rare an expression as any, "On your head? Really? Splendid! I wish I'd seen it...That's something to write home about, I would imagine..I, oh." He pauses and wonders smoothly, "Where is home, anyhow? Or are you from Telgar?"

"Well, I had to hold it up with my hands, of course," Claret clarifies, in all fairness. "But all the same, it was difficult enough. Me, I'm from Woodcraft Hall. But I was here, at the weyr, for a turn before I got Searched."

Eugenian ahhs, nodding his head, "I see, I see...so likely for you, what ever happens when the eggs hatch, you'll be staying here. That must be nice for you. Sounds stable."

Claret tilts her head from side to side ambiguously. "Well, I dunno. I mean, I guess I could stay here no matter what, but when--if--my gran dies, then I expect I'll go back to the Hall. I haven't got any plans, I don't think. What about you? I mean, you're just visiting, but if Amarie Impresses, then what?"

Eugenian considers the question a moment. He looks back down to his boots, starting to polish away again, slowly. "Me? Oh, I think I'll keep going. Maybe make my way down to Fort. Or Southern Boll. I always thought that being a beach bum would be a good career for me. And then I wouldn't be taking up space back home anymore, or here really. I could just wander about, do as I pleased."

Claret folds herself into a seated position next to Eugenian, eyeing his boots. "Are you going to polish those so much that you can see yourself in them? I've never seen boots that shiny, but you're going at a fair rate. Can you really be a beach bum for your whole life? That would be int--actually, no, I think that would be very boring. But it would be warm. I was in Boll once. But only in the sky." Pointing upward to demonstrate, she then promptly tucks her hands under her chin.

Eugenian nods his head firmly, "Till they shine. They're the only thing I've got, these boots. Gotta make them look good." He takes a breath, "Oh, actually, I think being a beach bum would be a very interesting life. You could..well..do a lot of things.." He pauses, his heart just apparently not in the story tonight. He sighs, "Really, I suppose if Amarie impresses, I may stay on here, try to find regular work. I can't go home without her. And if she doesn't, and goes home, I suppose I'll go back too..but then I'll have to get a job. My da will say it's about time, and my mum will agree, so I'll have to do it. I don't want to be a herder, though. No, that's definitely not the life for me."

Claret regards the boots skeptically. "All you've got is those boots? What about that floppy hat thing? The one you said the miners gave you? And how come you can't go back without Amarie? You wouldn't get in trouble, would you? Unless you're awfully good friends with Amarie and want to stay with her forever and ever. That's all right, I suppose. What is the life for you?"

Eugenian ohs brightly, "The hat! Right, I forgot about that. I guess that is mine too, even if it is a little big. Everything else I've got, my brothers all had before. And if I go home, I'll have to hand my stuff down to my younger brothers when the time comes. And my da said that if I came back without Amarie, he was going to disown me. Long story. But really, she's my sister and I want to make sure she's okay where ever she is...Do you know what you'll do with yourself if you don't find your lifemate?"

Claret untucks her hands, and wiping away the rest of the spare water on her person, she crumples the towel up in her lap, leaning forward. "Have you any other rags? I can help, if you like. I wonder what it would feel like to be disowned. Not terribly pleasant, I imagine. What a pity. If she Impresses, you can never go home! I should like to hear that story, sometime. I don't think my da would send my brother after me. I've just got one, you know. He's not terribly interesting, but I like him. He's not boring either, you see. So if I don't find a lifemate, I think I'll stay here like I was before, and sit with my gran and do chores and whatnot, and then I'll go back to my family at the Woodcraft Hall, maybe, and do the same thing."

Eugenian hmms softly, "That sounds nice over all...And I just have the one, but I appreciate the offer." He pauses, slightly distracted as he watches a small group of weyr youths go by and outside. He hmms. After a moment, he glances back and wonders, "If I asked you something, would you promise not to think I'm strange? There really isn't much time, you see. Amarie says it'll be soon now, one way or another. Before you know it, those eggs will hatch and everything will change again, for everybody."

Claret pulls a small face of distaste, though she shrugs ambivalently. "I don't know. Whatever I do after won't be terribly exciting. My family's nice, though." Tapping her finger against her chin she regards Eugenian with some puzzlement. "Well, I can't really promise not to -think- you're strange, but I can promise I'll try very hard not to think you're strange, and I'll pretend not to think so."

Eugenian gives a quick smile as he drops his rag and starts to pull the well shined boot onto his foot. It's not quite shiny enough to see one's reflection in it, but it is rather shiny. "Well. See, the thing is this..And I hope you don't think me too forward in asking, but should I go home, I wondered if I might..that is, if you wouldn't mind if I might write to you from time to time?" His brows draw together with a look of confusion for his own request.

Claret's brows start to quirk in puzzlement, though she smooths them out quickly enough. "Oh, of course you can!" she replies readily, with a bright smile. "I wouldn't mind in the least. I don't think there's anything strange about that. Letters, I mean. Besides, it's dreadful to meet people and then hardly ever talk to them again, don't you think?"

Eugenian nods his agreement as he picks up his other boot, dull and unpolished, and pulls that on. He doesn't tie either of them. "Exactly. Exactly. Plus, if you impress, I'm very fascinated with the process, so perhaps if I write you, you can write me back about it. Besides, I have a lot of stories that need to be told." He grabs his dirty rag and polish, tucking them both into his pocket and nods in the direction the weyr youths went. "Gotta go," he decides as he hops up and jogs after them, boot laces flailing.

Eugenian heads towards the corridor to the weyrfolk quarters.
Eugenian has left.

Barracks Inspection!

2006-08-08T01:27:01Z

Candidate Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This cavern has a rather low ceiling, with many openings for air, since this becomes an abode for a large number of people before every hatching. Every inch of the floor is kept clean, although little of it can be seen due to the many rows of cots that fill most of the space. The central part of the cavern is rather dim, as most of the glows are on the walls. Little decoration is evidenced except for a few personal effects. You wouldn't call it uncomfortable unless the unusually low ceiling for a weyr makes you claustrophobic. On the wall, scrupulously maintained, is a list of Candidates and their assigned chores for the day. Tampering with it is rumored to be an offense punishable by death or latrine duty for the rest of one's life.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Tobay Lanisa Claret Metri

Obvious Exits:
Lower Caverns

"Healer Hall. She's the eldest of us and apprenticed about as soon as she was of age." Lani doesn't seem to mind saying, "She was from here too though. My closest sister, in a way. Though I don't have as many stories as Amarie about them all." Then she grins, "Well, they can't be too upset if they got a cleaner floor out of the bargain."

Tobay of the wet socks and pungently-scented feet sits on his cot, removing the wet socks and discarding them into a soppy pile on the floor. "That's for sure, about the floor. I'd eat off it about now, after all that cleanser." A grin, "If she's sending messages back, and they're good, that's something to celebrate. Good news from a healer is always cheerful--yeah, Amarie has some fanciful ones. They make for great stories, too."

Claret trudges into the barracks, her attention focused on brushing firestone dust off of her sleeves and tunic. Not watching where's she going, she collides with the side of the entrance, and then with a cot before she looks up. Spotting Tobay and Lanisa she gives each a wave as she heads over to her own cot.

Lanisa lifts a hand to wave to Claret, "Heya." And then she chuckles, "I think I'll stick to the plates, even if the floor is that clean." But she nods then, rolling up the letter, "Yeah. I suppose there's some truth to that. About good news. Mostly she's teasing me to dodge so she doesn't have to stitch me up." She gives a wry grin at that, then nods, "She does. Course, sounds like it runs in her family. What with that brother of hers."

Tobay lifts his head, visibly sniffs. "I smell something powerful, and it is stronger than the scent of my feet!" He waves to Claret, "How's the firestone?" A wince at the woodcrafter's crunching into the wall, "Did you get some in your eyes? I've a kerchief if you need. 'Stone burns." A laugh at Lanisa's explanation. "That's some good advice. Will she be able to come in to see the hatching? We need someone to temper Eugenian--I heard he's been granted approval to stay on."

Claret rubs her eye experimentally at Tobay's question, and shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. I just wasn't paying attention. I seem to do that a lot," she says dismissively, not sounding particularly rueful. Bending over the small chest at the foot of her cot, she rifles through it. "No, I think I've got something..." Pulling out something akin to a rag, she adds in, "Eugenian started telling me a story that was almost true the other day. Except he said his brother ate fifty crawlers when it was only fifteen, but that's pretty close."

"Did you see all that water?" - "Well...it was hard to miss." That second, dry voice is Metri's, a quick and sarcastic response to one of the two boys accompanying him into the barracks. "We had lake Telgar Kitchens." Metri giggles at that as he goes to his cot, granting waves of greeting and bright grins while the other two peel off to thier own cots. They're still making jokes about the lake in the kitchens, and how quickly it evaporated while Trii tries to catch up on the conversation already going.

Lanisa shakes her head, "I don't know. Maybe she will if my Ma or grandma Ryi go to get her maybe. Can't imagine Da will have time to." She listens to the other exchange with apparently nothing to add until the end, "He told one that close to the truth? Really? Huh." When Metri enters she waves, "Heya Trii!" And a glance goes back to Tobay with a lopsided grin, "Your exploits are infamous."

Tobay nods, then leans over and withdraws a cloth from under his cot. It looks suspiciously like an old shirt stained by firestone and cooking hearths, but it is rapidly pressed into service as a towel to clear up the water that is pooling around his socks. A laugh, "Almost truth? That's impressive. I didn't know he could." His face reddens as he overhears the lake comments, "Uh, too bad it's too late in the spring for it to freeze, or there could be some more entertainment. Can't imagine how it got all over the floor," he murmurs, a grin despite his flush. "Your father's feeling better? He'll fly again?" What have rumors said, anyway?

Claret looks curiously from Metri to Tobay, eyeing that pooling water. "You made a lake in the kitchens? Whyever would you do that? Unless of course you like making lakes," Claret allows, apparently not accounting for accidents. Turning to Lanisa, Claret seconds the question, "Yes, how's your da doing? Is he still in the infirmary? Is he getting better? And Taralyth, too?"

"Was that you?" Metri asks Tobay after processing Lani's remark. "It was amazing. I've never seen Pierron turn that shade of red." There's a correction of, "He was sort of purple!" and Metri says, "Well, he's never turned that color that I know of. Good show." He stretches back on the cot, listening again, however curious his glance at Claret is.

"They're both healing just fine. And of course they'll fly again. They flew straight all the way home after all." Lani replies with an arched brow for both Tobay and Claret, "What ever have you heard?" Course, she doesn't answer where Is has been staying and instead sends glance at Metri with a hint of a grin. "Wished I'd seen that. I've not seen Pierron that fussed in awhile."

Tobay, if possible, gets smaller, and the Lemos youth spends a moment with the palm of his hand up against his forehead. "I do. I thought maybe if I just dumped the washwater all over the floor, everything there would be clean and there would be no more washing." His cheeks are apple-red and just as round from the force of his grin. "What, not even polite applause? I'm disappointed. And clumsy." He dries his toes, slips a fresh sock over his foot. "Ah, heard? Various things, from little scratches to terrible scars, really. Roberta said..." A shrug, enough told.

Claret shrugs, her tone practical. "Oh, well, you never know when something untoward might occur and things might go wrong, though I suppose all one has to do is see what kind of a mood you're in, because I'm sure you'd be upset if something had happened," she explains to Lani. "And I haven't seen him, after all. I haven't heard too much." Her glance wavering to Metri, she repeats, "Pierron was purple? Ooh, I wish I'd seen that. Did it work, then, Tobay? Spilling the water?"

A curly-haired candidate a cot over leans closer to Lanisa's group, her head tipped so she can hear the news. She has a hide in her hands, and outlines of little hearts with the Weyrlingmaster's name inside can be seen by the sharp-eyed.

Metri coughs, "Lunatic," in direct response to Roberta's name. "No need to be modest, Tobay. I couldn't have done better myself. Well, maybe I could have, but I respect your work." Metri gives the girl a look as she leans closer, and sharp-eyed he is. He squints to read it, just before going flat on the bed and muffling his laughter with the blankets, shaking his head no. One break in laughter earns a head raise and a very amused, "Oh ew!"

"Well Roberta doesn't know everything. And maybe she should mind her own business for once and find someone more appropriate for her attentions." Lani makes a face at the girl in question, clearly not caring what the other thinks of it. But she shrugs a shoulder then says more directly to Tobay and Claret, "His leg, Tear's neck. He's got to use modified straps right now, but he can fly if he wants to."

Tobay shakes his head, "Thank you for your praise, but I think it failed. Alas, I shall have to try other methods. Like avoiding the klah." A wink at Claret, then Tobay tugs on his other sock, wiggling his feet in their warmth. "My next goal is for Pierron to turn blue. Purple's close, though. Yeah, Roberta...is sometimes confused." As is he as Metri blanket-dives. "Ouch, his neck. Yeah, I can see the use for modified straps. Much better than...much better."

Claret eyes Metri's antics and concludes in a satisfied tone, "Just as touched as ever." Skirting over any comment on Roberta, though she gives a bare nod at the statements of the others, Claret hmms thoughtfully. "Purple is -quite- a good start. If he were to go blue, he'd have to stop breathing for quite some time, and that would put him in danger of asphyxiation. I wouldn't call that a failure at all, even though I didn't see it. Is it cleaned up yet, Metri?" Shaking her head, she asks, "Do you think the klah had something to do with it? Oh my."

The curly-haired girl sticks her tongue out at Metri, blinks bovinishly at Lanisa, then rolls over onto her back on her cot, clutching the hide to her chest. "Poor brave I'sai," she airily sighs, before hopping up and running off to tell her friends about the man's progress.

K'ran emerges from behind the curtain across the entrance.
K'ran has arrived.

Lanisa groans and flops over on her back as Roberta leaves, "Gross. Just, yeah... As if." Seems Metri isn't alone in his opinion of her. She covers her face with her pillow and there's another, far more muffled, "Grooooss."

Metri sticks his tongue right back out at the girl, saying, "Maybe we should tell her that her chances are slim. You know, post a little thing next to the chores: 'I'sai doesn't like you girls, so stop it. Now.'" Metri shakes his head. "Did you see the hearts? Your Da has them stricken. Wonder what his secret is. I want a harem." He falls into more laughter at Lani's reaction. "Don't think about it, Lani. It'll give you a headache."

Tobay shakes his head, helplessly, dissolving into laughter at Claret's words and at Roberta's departure. "I don't want to be responsible for that, if Pierron stopped breathing." He lowers his feet toward the floor, swishes the wet shirt around to soak up some of the growing puddle. "There were hearts? Wow. That's--wow. Don't feel bad. I'll be in your harem, Metri."

K'ran, as he ducks into the barracks -- the low ceiling makes a stoop necessary -- clears his throat, and audibly enough to reach the rear few cots in the room. "Barracks inspection," he announces, in a good-natured tone, as he produces a clean white handkerchief from a pocket of his riding jacket.

Claret nods sagely toward Tobay. "Exactly. Which is just why you didn't fail at all, because if you turned him blue, you'd really be creating a problem, don't you think?" Looking after Roberta with curiosity, she shakes her head. "-My-," she emphasizes as her only comment, most particularly as the Weyrleader walks in.

"No hearts, No harems.. just, uggh." This still muffled through the pillow. "To late Trii, she already gave me one. Did you see the look on her face when I sai..." Lani stops right there as she hears K'ran, and pulls the pillow away enough that she can visually confirm before shifting to get back up. Cot rumpled, letter rolled on top with the pillow now tucked under her arm. "Afternoon, sir."

"Oh, thank you Tobay. You were my first choice any--barracks check?" Metri sits up as well, his own area no better. "Sir," he says, by means of greeting, looking ruefully at his own area, and then Lani's beside it. He grumbles a disgruntled, "Excellent."

Tobay, situated somewhere in the middle of the line of cots, looks up with wide eyes. "Uh oh," he murmurs lowly, looking at the mess of clothes and water mixed with springtime mud that he's dragged in. "It'll be peelers for sure." Resolutely, he wriggles his stockinged-toes, watches a tributary branch off from the wet-sock-and-shirt pile. "Good point, Claret. Aw, gee thanks, 'Trii. I'm flattered. Uh, afternoon, sir."

"How about," K'ran proposes, perhaps -- as he eyes the clutter -- in the interest of fairness, "I give you the count of one-hundred to tidy things up a bit, hm?" He tucks the white handkerchief away, evidently deciding that it won't be necessary, today.

Claret echoes the general, "Afternoon, sir." Straightening, she gazes dubitably at her poorly made bed, and the little flakes of firestone and dust that are scattered all around her. At K'ran's offer she hastily moves to smooth out her blankets, looking sideways at the other candidates.

"One hundred count, right." That's all Lani needs before replacing the pillow, tucking the rolled letter in her belt and smoothing out her own blankets. Her press she ignores. Metri she starts to move to help, but then glances first to see if he wants it. After all, he's closest.

Metri doesn't even give K'ran a chance to start counting before he's to making his cot, straightening pillows, and then, since that only takes a few seconds, he starts digging under his bed. The best storage compartment in the barracks. With what the lad pulls from beneath it, he could open his own little trader's caravan. He makes to straighten it, hissing at Lani, "C'mon, c'mon. Shaffit. I knew I should have just used the bureau."

Tobay's eyes brighten at the reprieve, and he immediately kneels, mopping up the puddle of water with his old shirt, which is then wrapped in a dirtied linen and tucked into a basket of gathered laundry items. This accomplished, he smiles at the shine left behind, ignores the remaining dots of water, and restacks his shirt-pile into a drawer. "Woah, I have stale rolls in here? I thought I ate all of--" They're plopped into his pocket with no further thought, and the tidying continues.

With the sudden buzz of activity, K'ran simply leans back against a wall and folds his arms across his chest. "You know," he points out, mildly. "It's often easier to just keep ahead of the clutter, than it is to let it go, and then try and straighten up all at once."

Claret kneels in front of her chest, once her bed is straightened, trying to set her rummaged and rumpled clothes and belongings into decent order and lowering the lid with a click. Ducking under her cot as well, she starts trying to sweep up the stray little bits of firestone, dirt, and crumbs into an unobtrusive little pile, bobbing her head at the Weyrleader's statement.

Lanisa hisses under her breath in return to Metri, "Shards, Trii, what all have you..." But she's now straitening stuff as she does so, only sending a smile K'ran's way when he speaks. And nope, so not commenting on the easiness of neatness as she keeps on with her task.

"It would be," Metri grumbles, "if I had any time to spend in here." He walks on his knees to his own chest, folding the clothes (kind-of), and sticking them in properly. "You know...I didn't know I had this much stuff." Metri seems quite fascinated by the stuff, but continues giving everything a place. "What number are we on?" he asks.

K'ran answers Metri quite pleasantly: "Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight..." He lets the count -- which proceeds at a relaxed pace -- drift back to silence.

"What if," Tobay puffs, between piling clothing that is at least folded back into its place, "I can't keep up with myself?" This admitted, he tugs the coverlet on his cot until it seems less rumpled, even pausing a moment to fluff the pillow. Turning about, he accidentally drags his stockinged-foot through Claret's pile of firestone debris. Dropping to hands and knees, he looks under her cot, smiles at her, murmurs, "oops," and starts to regather the pile.

Claret wrinkles her nose distastefully at the again scattered little mess. Accenting the distortion of her features with a grin, though, she returns to scooting the little bits into a pile with her rag, looking up to see if she can tell how fast the count is going. "Well," she remarks in a low voice, her mouth quirking. "At least I didn't leave whole dinner items down here to get stepped in."

"I didn't know you had this much stuff either." Lani replies quietly, handing over another shirt to Metri as she fishes under his cot for anything else. Still ignoring the rest of her area, though the others gain a glance and she murmurs mostly to herself "Hope... finds... in Roberta's..."

Metri sighs, after a moment of deliberation. "I think that's as good as it's going to get with him standing there. I can't frame Roberta, you see?" Just in time for him to hear sentence fragments and add, "Unless we get to throw her out with the rest of the discards." He folds the shirt and stuffs it with the rest, then stands up and sweeps off his hands.

Tobay's ears turn red, and he brushes little escaped bits toward Claret's pile. "Sorry. Yeah, you'd think I'd know better by now about stashing food...it's not like the kitchen's far or food is in short supply. Strangest thing? I can't keep up with my stockpile. Never used to have that problem." Satisfied that he's gathered most of the bits, he grins again, rises, and pads in his stocking feet to his cot's end.

Roberta's cot, as one might strangely expect, is in pristine condition. Bed made, clothing folded and tucked away, bureau even dusted, shoes in a line under bed's edge. Gossip monger is nowhere in sight, but one item remains out: a needlepoint atop the bureau, work in progress just visible is the outline of a heart, with the letter I inside, the beginning of someone's name.

For the sake of any frantic cleaners, K'ran vocalizes a bit more of the count: "Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five... How'll you keep up with a dragon, Tobay, if you can't keep up with yourself?"

Claret tries to gather up most of the little pile and dispose of it, shoving the rest underneath the chest and hoping K'ran's not watching as she does so. Straightening, she comments, "Well, stashes aren't so bad. After all, nobody wants to go to the kitchen if they get hungry in the middle of the night. Bed's really nice then." Looking at Tobay's pink ears with chagrin, Claret inspects her little area, and deeming it tidy, she mumbles, "Got to get back to chores. Afternoon, sir. And everybody else," she says shortly, ducking out of the room.

Reconnect a short while later…

Candidate Barracks(#258RADHJL$)
This cavern has a rather low ceiling, with many openings for air, since this becomes an abode for a large number of people before every hatching. Every inch of the floor is kept clean, although little of it can be seen due to the many rows of cots that fill most of the space. The central part of the cavern is rather dim, as most of the glows are on the walls. Little decoration is evidenced except for a few personal effects. You wouldn't call it uncomfortable unless the unusually low ceiling for a weyr makes you claustrophobic. On the wall, scrupulously maintained, is a list of Candidates and their assigned chores for the day. Tampering with it is rumored to be an offense punishable by death or latrine duty for the rest of one's life.
The normal ruckus of the barracks is almost constant.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Tobay Lanisa Claret Metri

Obvious Exits:
Lower Caverns

Tobay's face puckers in an expression of uncertainty. "Ugh, that's true. Here's to minimal suffering." He puts his own hand on his heart, lifts his fist into the sky. "Not sure if he'd believe it, though, but we've got a rep he might listen to." He nods at Lanisa's willingness to be an emissary. "And he's got eyes, he has to have seen the way the Berta bunch behaves. I say we do it."

"Okay, now the key is actually telling her about it. And then we can take her embroidery and put my name on it. Just for the sake of humor." Metri looks devilish as he suggests, "Or we can put someone else's name on it. Lani's, maybe?" he asks her.

"Instead of Da's?" Lanisa asks Metri in regards to the last and then she nods to Tobay, "He'll at least listen to me, probably believe me. He just might tell me to keep my nose out of it though, but if he does that. It'll just be me. I wont name you two, so unless K'ran does, he'll never know." And it sounds like she thinks that a safe bet, "But she won't believe me if I tell her, but if I tell Trii...Roberta might well buy that."

Claret shuffles back into the barracks, the scent of firestone clinging ever more strongly to her. Slowing as she moves through the entrance, she takes a look around to see if the Weyrleader is still present, and finding that he's not, she heads to her cot with a pleased expression in her face, giving Tobay, Metri, Lani, and anybody else nearby a cheery smile of greeting.

Tobay grins, laughs, gestures to the embroidery as he refolds some of his more wrinkled shirts. "/That/ would be hilarious. And it might disguise who did it--she probably wouldn't think you'd put your own name down if you were guilty." Another nod, a mischeivous gleam in Tobay's green eyes. "Perfect. Overhearing things is what she's best at. Oh, Claret--you're safe. Not even a 'tell her to...'"

Niella has connected.

"Yeah, you're clean enough, although he did sniff at your cot. What're you storing down there?" He turns to the rest of them and says, "Well, then it's set. And maybe you shouldn't tell your Da unless he come's a'callin'."

Niella sighs on her cot, dabbing at the bloody crusts on her palms. She seems to be bone deep tired. Yet another example of the critical Plant Conspiracy.

"Hey Claret." Lani calls and then giggles, "Now that really could be funny. And an I becomes an L with out too much work, eh?" Then nodding, "We just have to make sure she doesn't think we see her, and then she'll so buy anything we say about Da. You think just tell him if he finds out then? I don't know..." And there Niella gets a nod.

"Oh, good," is Claret's reply as she sits down gingerly on the edge of her cot, and bending over to sniff under her cot herself, she shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. I mean, I don't keep anything under there, 'cept dirt. I hope." Peering curiously at each of the candidates, she asks, "Are you all scheming something?" Gaze dropping at Niella in the process, she frowns. "Are you all right, Niella?"

"As she suggested," Tobay laughs, "His approval might be a good idea." Folding another shirt, he adds it to the stack of them. "Yeah, we are, kinda scheming. The problem with the embroidery is that we'd need someone competent with a needle." He looks at Lanisa and Metri, "Either of you that someone?" He holds up a green shirt with a lousy patch in the center, "Cause I'm not." Smiling around it, he gestures to a small pot of numbweed on a common table. "There, Niella. It'll help."

Metri scoffs shortly. "Embroidery, hah. My sewing skills will be presented on the day of the hatching when you all see my robes--until then, I'm not showcasing anything." Metri gives a flutter of the eyelashes at Claret. "Us? Scheme? Never." Yeah right. "Of course we're scheming. Can you embroider?"

Niella smiles, and takes the numbweed. "Certainly Claret. It's just...weeds. They're out to get me. really. They hate me!" she smiles, and dabs at the cuts. Her ears perk up at the mention of embroidery. "Well, I'm fair with a needle, if it's something I can help you out with. Hatching's soon, though. It can't be anything really complicated. Embroidery takes time" she smiles, and nods to both Tobay and Metri. "And my robe is done. I hope to show it off for you all, soon, indeed!"

"I can. Not, you know, really well. But I can stitch." Lani says and then nods, "Da might well approve, but he'd be madder if he didn't and found out later. I'm suppose to be doing him proud and all that." Course, that leaves the question wide open for interpretation on what I'sai might expect to fall under that classification, "You can, Niella? It's just a few letters needing done..."

Tobay folds the green patched shirt, stuffing it into the press at the bottom of the pile. "Will we be dazzled, or will your robe fall off, leaving your stunning self to dazzle little dragonets?" He laughs, casts a gaze toward Claret, "I don't think either of us excel in that area. Yeah, Niella. Just a few letters. I'm in favor of pre-approval, myself, when it comes to the da in question."

"I'm just saying one thing. I remember him telling me not to embarass him. So...we have to make sure I don't and you guys do." Metri looks longingly at Niella. "Yes, pleease? Three letters. Only three." Metri looks at Tobay, saying, "Well...we'll see, won't we? But, dazzle would certainly be the word for it."

Niella says "Depends on the entire story, and what three letters. Sometimes, there's nothing to do once the embroidery is complete. Not enough room. And if it needs unpicking, it could be too difficult to do, as well. So, ante up the whole story, or I can't help" she says, with a conspiritorial smile. "And, anyone got a meatroll? I'm famished!""

Claret shakes her head, though an answer is a bit more needless now that one decent embroiderer has been found. "I can barely sew a straight stitch. Not much use for anything. Only... What good will changing the embroidery do?" she asks before turning to look at Niella's hands. "The weeds are out to get you? Really? Whatever did you do to deserve it?"

"I'll take any heat from Da, don't worry. I mean, he's not likely to be mad at me fore ever and if anything he's apt to be impressed I waited this long before..." Lani then eyes Niella thoughtfully, "I don't know... I mean, we tell you anything and you'd have to swear not to say anything to anyone. -- The letters wont hurt anyone."

Tobay nods. "Right, we'll take over any blame for embarrassments. Though really, I'd think we were saving the person in question some embarrassment. We're trying to make a present for someone, but they can't know about it, Niella." Caught unprepared, Tobay raises his hands, palms upward. "Actually. I don't have one. Can you believe it? I think my appetite is decreasing and my pants are getting bigger. Well, Metri, they'd either be dazzled, or blinded. Hard to say which, after we've all been inside all winter."

Metri sighs a bit, as though all his plans have been dashed against a rock. "It was, actually, supposed to be a surprise for Lani...you know, a good luck charm. L-A-N. We got Roberta to do the "I" (she's a bit crazy, has to work backwards), but she is a bit...uncommitted to her work. Her attentions are otherwise occupied, so we need someone to finish it." Well, now that there are two stories. "Sorry, Lani. Ruined the surprise, but it would be even more suspicious if I huddled in the corner with Niella." - "Tobay. You should know better than to doubt me. Winter or not, all will be dazzled. Or...would be. My clothes are going to stay on."

Niella looks at Lani dubiously. "Doesn't sound like something that's the truth. Bring me the piece, though, and I'll take a look at it." She turns, and smiles at Claret. "They're conspiring against me, actually. They attack every time I've got weeding duty! Every thorn in three Weyrs clumps up in my sector! It's awful!" she smiles, and finishes with the numbweed. She looks at Tobay. "They have belts for that, nowadays" she says, ascerbically. "Quite effective!" she says, with a smile. "Not that I mind, ordinarily......but it's small conselation, actually..." she says, with a chuckle.

Claret clicks her teeth together, a puzzled expression on her features as she's not much more clued in than Niella. Metri she gives a skeptical glance, and clicking her teeth a bit more furiously, she looks to Lanisa and Tobay to see what's they're going to add. "Your pants are getting bigger?" Claret asks Tobay, looking faintly surprised. "That's quite a marvel. What about those stale rolls you said you had, earlier?" Turning a pensive look on Niella, she comments, "Well. That's interesting. You had better watch out. There seem to be a lot of conspiracies afoot just now."

"Right, we're saving him, so he should be happy, eh?" Is her agreement with Tobay, followed by assurance to Niella, "Two separate things, the letters and the other." Lani then manages to do an imitation of Roberta's star-eyed expression at last as she looks to, Metri then, "I'll still act surprised..." But then she giggles as she teases, "Your always dazzling, Trii. That why you have us all so stunned at your brilliance all the time."

The stout candidate snerks, flops sideways on his cot, buries his face in his pillow. His mass jiggles for a few moments as he struggles to get in control of himself. Finally sitting upright, he nods somberly. "I didn't think of finding a belt. I bet that would help. Yeah, sorry, Lanisa. We meant to surprise you. My harem-master, I know better than to doubt you. Ay, there do seem to be conspiracies afoot, and I don't think she'd want a stale roll. I don't even want a stale roll." He takes a few breaths, trying to catch up after his laughing fits. (T’bay)

"See? You doubt me, and now you must have fifty lashings with a wet noodle!" Metri's declaration of (almost) torture is with all the airs of a slave driver. "No noodles available. Quickly, give me a stale roll!" Metri laughs at Tobay's laughter, looking at Lani and demanding, "Promise to still act surprised?"

Niella chuckles, and sighs, standing up, and shaking her head at the collected conspiritors. "As I said, it' sidfficult to say without seeing the embrodery to help" she says, and smiles at Tobay, and then Metri. "And you're not offering any to me ?" she asks, with a wink, and then tries to weave her way towards the kitchen cavern

Claret settles a dubious gaze on the two who are in the midst of giggling convulsions, or laughter, or what have you. "You never know. Some people might like a stale roll. If I were absolutely, completely famished I might like a stale roll." Nodding decisively, she warns Niella, "Watch out for klah, too! Bit of a dangerous thing, and very subtle."

Jaleran has connected.

Tobay puts his hands in the air, as if he were protecting himself, and raises his voice into a high warble. "Ahh, no, no! No lashings, master Metri!" Dropping his hands just as abruptly, he grins, puts his hands on his hip. "I really doubt you want the stale ones. Fresh is better. But I'll keep it, just in case you are starving sometime, Claret. For my part, I'd best get back to dishwashing, and trying to avoid another Lake Tobay." A self-effacing headshake. "Let me know if I can help with any other element of Lanisa's Surprise?" With this, and a wide grin, Tobay's off.

"Well, no harm done. I'm rather good at acting surprised, so never fear." Lani winks at Tobay and Metri both at that. "And yeah, a belt is a good idea... See you later, Tobay."

Tobay has disconnected.

"Bye, Tobay." Metri spares a wave, saying, "We need a lake that's not frozen, I'd say." However, he changes gears, rolling off his cot and going to a nearby one, taking the embroidery off the pillow while Niella isn't looking. A heart with an 'I' in it. Metri mimes the same thing K'ran had previously, behind Claret and Niella--a finger down the throat and a gag--before coming back into sight and flopping onto his cot, sticking the embroidery in his press along with the rest of the bundles.

Niella nods, and smiles, popping out into the kitchen , and grabbing a meatroll. She gets the gesture, and simply keeps herself silent. "At least now I can eat without all the blood" she says, almost to herself

Claret sends a wave after Tobay before bending over her chest, and rifling through the wrinkling clothes she pulls out some clean ones, along with a towel. "I won't say a single thing if you tell me what you're planning!" she hints, trying to temper a properly beseeching look, looking sideways at Niella.

Lanisa giggles as she watches Metri's actions, only that maybe giving it away. But if the pillow is stowed away before the others see, all the better. "I so agree." She tells him, though to which? Well, he can guess. To Claret she simply grins, "Following K'ran's advice." That's not really trouble, right?

"Yep, it was all the Weyrleader's idea." When all else fails, blame a bronzer. Metri grins widely, saying, "And Claret, no offense...but you never stop talking; if you ever didn't say a single thing, I'd eat my pants."

Claret sniffs in protest. "I do too stop talking. Sometimes I'm completely quiet. Anyway, even when I do talk I don't say stuff I'm not supposed to." Singling out two fingers, she holds them up. "Just the other day two people told me things I wasn't supposed to talk about, and I haven't even once."

Niella says "Well, we're back to pants. When did that happen?" she asks, with a smile, munching her meatroll. "Anyone have any idea about hatching? I've heard there are pools....""

"Really Claret? Like what?" Lani teases with a smile and than is glancing at Niella, "When did what happen?" Maybe she missed the preface, "And what sort of idea abouit the hatching. -- Betting pools? Oh aye, lots of those. Why, care to place a wager?"

Metri can't seem to pass up the opportunity to say, "Pools? On the sands? No dear, they'd evaporate." As Lani talks, however, he gets back up. "I'm going to go. You'll never believe it, but I got stuck with errands. Again." Lani gets a wink, obviously some sort of joke. "I'll talk to you all later." He stretches until something pops before giving a little hop, and then strolling out.

Metri has disconnected.

Niella says "What are the odds Lani? I want to put a quarter mark woodcraft on Niella to impress! What will that get me?" She asks, with a broad smile. She probably doesn't even have the marker."

"Well, I'm not going to say," Claret replies primly before her straightened lips for a smile. "Are there lots of bets, then, on who will Impress? And not just on the eggs? I mean, I was told there would be, but... I think it'd be interesting to see what the bets are, anyway."

Lanisa falls back on her cot giggling, "Alright Trii." She calls after his back as he leaves and then turns her gaze on Niella, "You want to bet a quarter mark on yourself? Sorry. I can't cover that bet. My marks are all placed already in wagers with Kassima and a couple others. Wouldn't do to over extend and have to ask my da to cover my bets, eh?"

Niella says "Sure thing. Not covering bets is a sin! And, probably grounds for not impressing, AND feeding the dragonets for a year!"

Claret collects her clothing and towel, holding them at arm's length from the dirty attire she's wearing at present. "Well. I'm going to go to the baths and get clean. I've had quite enough of smelling firestone for the day. Don't go broke!" she calls over her shoulder as she heads out, waving.

"Especially when he likely has his own bets to cover. Eh, Lanisa?" Jaleran grins as he enters with a great bundle draped carefully over one arm. He makes his way to his cot-cluster and very gently, almost reverantly lays the bundle out on top of the cot that forms the foot of his bed. He gives Niella an odd look over his shoulder as he sits down on his press. "What are you babbling about?"

It's a runner conspiracy!

2006-08-08T01:24:57Z

Telgar Beasthold(#1204RAL$)
The beast hold is warm and dry, filled with the wholesome smell of runners, hay and leather. Stalls constructed of wood and stone march down the sides of this wide cavern, and thick rushes cover the floor. The glow baskets are filled, and keep this place very bright indeed. Several nickers greet you as you look about.
The only exit from here leads you out to the pasture.

Contents:
Tobay
Midnight
Klinger
Sophie

Obvious exits:
Pasture

With the coming of spring, promise is in the air around Telgar Weyr, promise of soon-to-hatch eggs and a new crop of weyrlings. But today in the beasthold, the scent of runners pervades the air to the exclusion of most else. Tobay and Claret, two Candidates, have been assigned to the joyous task of looking after and mostly cleaning up after these animals this afternoon. Tobay stands on a small step up, granting him plenty of height to brush down the upper back of Sophie, who by the foamy sheen of her has proven her distance capability quite recently. Sophie, for her part, helps out by trying to empty Tobay's pockets of stolen baked goods. "Hey, watch it. Only Dianneth has the right to get into my pants like that." He teases the beast, then flushes. "That's not what I meant."

Claret bends over by the side of another bay, struggling to hold his foreleg up properly, hoofpick in her other hand. As the leg goes down, she grabs at it again, frowning as she scrapes away at the dirt. "Dratted runners," she mutters. Hearing Tobay's words she looks in his direction from under the gelding. "Is she eating you? That's rather unfortunate, I wouldn't like to th--Oof!" she mutters again as she's interrupted by the runner's stirring.

Tobay laughs, his ears still tinged red. "Worse than that," he explains, brush strokes punctuating he words, "She's stealing my stash of treats. Quit that, I'll give you a fruit later." Catching his barracks-sharers struggle over the top of Sophie, Tobay frowns. "Want a hand trying to hold him? Yeah, that's a him. Not as much of one as he used to be, but. Him, still? Not that I'm a pro, but I could hold while you scrape, maybe. Woah, girl. I need these clothes. Stop chewing on them." The last, one would hope, is addressed to the runner.

Claret eyes Tobay's ears curiously for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I think... I think if I just hold it right, like the stablehand said, I should manage. Runners are okay, but this isn't the best part." Giving it another try, she edges her hand down the runner's foreleg and squeezes, prompting him to raise his leg again. Finishing the hoof, she unbends herself with satisfaction, now peering at Tobay over the gelding's withers with fascination. "D'you mean that you'd rather you got eaten than your sweets? Ooh, I never met anyone before that wanted to get eaten."

Tobay nods vigorously. "You're better at it than I am. Last time I tried that, one of 'em kicked and I stepped back suddenly and fell in a pile of--let's just say fresh scrapings. I believe in you." That said, he complacently continues brushing down the warm runner, working on her upper back. "No, I wouldn't really rather she reduced me to his status," a nod toward the gelding, "But priorities, you know. I should've worn the shirt Dianneth chewed a hole in, the green one, but I didn't think to. And I'm not so much for mending--I can't imagine writing my mom and telling her I need /more/ shirts. I'd heal without having to send that message. Besides, her muzzle tickles."

"Thanks awfully," Claret replies, rounding to the other side of the runner to work at its next foreleg. "Your confidence is very inspiring. Except I think he's just a nice fellow, because normally I don't do so very well. Back at home I used to even get barred from the stables sometimes because I--Oh, well, anyway, that's too bad," she finishes up, switching subjects abruptly and heaving a sigh. "It would have been terribly interesting to know someone that wanted to get eaten. I suppose it would be inconvenient to get your clothes ruined in the process, too. I can't mend worth anything, myself. It's become a bit of an annoyance."

Tobay laughs lowly, then focuses on his brushing of Sophie's lower back with a little more care as she repositions her feet, shifting a few steps. "Glad to help. Even more happy to inspire. Lofty status, that." Once she's stilled, he grins over her at Claret again, though he does watch the mare distrustfully. "You'd get barred from the stables? Ouch. This is going well, then. I can man a shovel or a pitchfork well enough that I'd be invited back for the honors.--Mending is difficult work! Very precise. Inconvenient to not be better at it, I agree." He leans back a moment, studies the runner. "She looks rather hot--should I wash her before brushing, or is the brushing enough?"

Claret bends for another attempt, running her hand jerkily down the bay's foreleg until it lifts, and trying to hold it still while she applies the pick again, she remarks dismissively, "Oh, well, I guess they just didn't think any mucking abilities I possessed could equal the havoc I caused occasionally. Sometimes I was handy, maybe. I hope not, one of the stableboys was mean." Breaking her speech off, Claret makes a muffled noise as she almost loses her balance, and certainly the hoof. "Perhaps you're so inspiring, you've granted me the ability to at least make a partial success of grooming. That would be nice. I shall have to make sure to get the same chore shift as you more often. Um," she starts in, glancing over at the mare. "I'm not really sure. Seems a bit chilly for washing, though, don't you think?"

Tobay makes a face, considering the runner further. "Yeah, maybe just a damp cloth, or brush or something to take the sweat layer off--I'd be miserable, but it probably keeps her warm enough. The coat, I mean." He peeks at Claret around the runner's legs, keeping his face clear should she move. "You all right? That sounded not-so-good, like maybe I've not granted you such good luck after all. Though it's fun to have duties with someone you kinda know, you know? Makes the time go by more pleasantly." Back to the runner, he looks her in the big eyes and asks, "You want a half-bath, sweetie? Little scrubby?" She noses him hard, and he backs up. "I'll take that as a maybe."

Claret leans against the panels of the stall for a moment before moving on to the next hoof. "Nah, I'm fine, because after all, I didn't fall over. That's a piece of good luck, isn't it? Maybe just a brush?" she suggests. "Someone must have ridden her hard, if she's hot. But I bet runners get cold just like we do, else why would they keep them in the Beast Hold, and not out to pasture like they do in the summer?" Flattening herself against the stall, Claret dictates a foreboding "Uh-oh," as the gelding prances to the side, almost smooshing her. "It -is- nice doing chores with people you kind of know. It gets awfully boring otherwise, sometimes."

Tobay nods, "That wind out there is pretty biting, I agree. If I were all foamy sweaty, like she is--no insult, pretty girl, mind my toes with those hooves,--" Soothing strokes of the brush move down her lower back and along one rear leg, "I'd want to be inside where it's warm. And where the food is." The runner, for her part, turns her head and whuffles at Tobay's hair, which happens to resemble straw in color and wildness at the moment. "Ah, I'd like to keep that, too. I'll give you some fruit and some straw, later, okay?" Wheedling tones, to ease the runner away from his hair. "Jaleran thinks the hatching can't be too far off, though, so we likely won't be at this for always. Won't that be strange? I've sortof settled in to the routine of chores and visiting with our group."

Claret eyes the runner cautiously before moving close to it again, bending over another leg. "I should like to be inside where it's nice and warm, no matter what," she states practically. Rubbing an elbow against her eye, she amends, "Well, maybe not always, sometimes it's nice out when it's cold. I keep hearing Jaleran say that, about the hatching. I guess maybe he's right? It will be awfully odd, to be changing things around so much, so soon. It feels like so long since everybody came here. Are you staying, after, if you don't Impress? Say!" Claret observes, straightening again and noting Sophie's interest in Tobay's hair. "I think she likes you."

Tobay finishes rubbing down that side of the curious runner, and he steps (around her front, avoiding the back end) to the other side to take up work there. The little step is lugged along, too, providing him with extra reach that his size prevents him from otherwise attaining. "That's sensible," he agrees. "I think I may, but I'm still not sure what craft I might pursue, you know, if I don't make that move into the other barracks after it is all said and done. I could go bakercraft, or focus on minework, or shape and prepare the hardwood trees. Some of that has a place here, so I might be useful, but I'd need some apprenticing years first." He pushes the runner's muzzle to the side, brushing along her neck to distract her. "I seem to attract animals, and not in the good-herder way. Must be the sweetsand, I think the harper candidate scented it with some sort of fragrance before I got to it this morning. How about you--plan to stay, I mean?"

Claret walks back up to the geldings nose, rubbing it with the palm of her hand as he stretches his head out for more attention. Smiling, she looks vaguely toward Tobay. "Well, I expect it's very interesting to have all different kinds of creatures try to make holes in your shirts. Maybe it's not just sweetsand, maybe it's some kind of conspiracy. Have you had any klah today?" Giving the nose a final rub, Claret moves to his side to pick up the last leg. Running her hand across his withers and down his back as she walks, she nods. "Yes, I'm staying. For a while, at least. Once my gran dies--she lives here--I'll probably go back to my hall. Not to apprentice or anything," she clarifies with an emphatic shake of her head.

Tobay laughs outright at Claret's suggestion, spooking the mare, who scoots to the side with a loud whickery whuffle, and not an approving one, either. "Conspiracy. That's it exactly! No, no klah. But they could be trying to tell me something, that is a good point. I should keep records, be famous for deciphering the code some day." He pets the runner's nose until she calms, brushes her haunch until she's lulled somewhat into an agreeable state. "Right, at weavercraft, but not a weaver. I didn't realize your gran lived here--is she a crafter? What might you study, back at your hall?" His nonchalance suggests he's more than casually curious, though he tries to cover it.

Claret scrapes dirt away from the gelding's foot, shifting slightly as he moves, and ruminating away. "There are any number of possible sources for conspiracy," she conjectures. "It could be the klah, because even if you haven't had any today, it might still be affecting your mind, after all. Perhaps it's some form of revolution, making you smell very tasty so animals will try to eat you? That would be quite canny of it. Done!" she exclaims, and backing away from the runner she goes to relinquish the hoofpick and fetch a brush. "My gran wasn't a crafter, she always lived here, and my mother too. My Da, he's the crafter and he was posted here once, that's how they met. If I took classes anymore, I'd study carving, and making furniture, and maybe making paper, and things like that. How to use wood once you've felled it!"

"That's very true," agrees the roundfaced boy with a sage nod. "It is very likely something of that order. Things out to confuse me, for sure. And I must admit, it's working." Grinning, he drags the brush through the beast's coat, trying to avoid any runner-tickling and the runner-shuffle that goes with it. "Congratulations! You should win a prize of some sort. Maybe the rest of the sweetroll that this girl left behind, though that's a pretty sorry prize." The runner dips her head, her eyes lolling closed, and Tobay continues. "Ahh, ample opportunity for interacting, your folks. Well, we could maybe help each other out, if I work on preparing the trees to be useful for carvers. If you get to that place, seek me out, hm? If we both leave, we can reminisce about our days spent together shoveling dung and brushing runners."

"And to inconvenience you," Claret pipes in, returning to the stall with brush in hand. Shuffling to the gelding's side she starts brushing away at his shoulders, moving down. "It's a very subtle form of warfare, and quite undetectable. Just think, all these months and you've been getting muddled up and eaten, and it was the klah all along! There's no telling what it's doing to the rest of us. No wonder some people don't like it." Nodding in time with each downsweep of her arm, Claret chips in brightly, "Okay! If I go home, I mean, when I go home, I will. It should be a great comfort to remember mucking stalls, far in the future. Nothing like it."

"That especially," the Lemos boy agrees through merry warm-toned laughter. "It's a takeover plot, you see. To addle everyone's thoughts--and it's working, we're proof." More hearty laughter, to which Sophie is becoming accustomed. A few more traces with the brush, and Tobay has finished with this one. "There you are, girl! All brushed down." The rest of the roll is shared with runner, perhaps unwisely. More sniffing at it, and she seems disinterested in really eating it. "Not good enough?" Back into the pocket it goes. "A great comfort indeed. At the very least, something to tell any potential grandchildren about, or anyone else who'll stand still to listen. Back in my day--" He squeaks a bit to get the tone right, then coughs. "Ouch. That hurt. And I've perhaps got dust in my eye. Maybe it's a good time for a water break. I'll bring some back soon, to share." With this announcement, he rubs at his eye, and heads out toward the people-safe water area.

He's always pulling out that knife, it's a bit alarming.

2006-08-08T01:17:56Z

Southern Bowl(#396RDJ$)
Towering above, the bowl wall rises in a curving three-pointed arc as it shelters this southernmost point of Telgar Weyr's great caldera. Sloping down to the north to a slight degree, the floor of the bowl has been channeled so that runoff might drain down to the lake beyond. There are several strategically placed evergreens that serve to baffle the biting mountain winds away from the southern entrance into the Living Caverns. Drifts of snow and the heavy tracks of large dragon feet and bellies cross the expanse of the bowl. Rocks and crags are hung with the purest white. Northward, the center of the bowl spreads hugely, leading to the feeding pens, hatching grounds, weyrling barracks, the Telgar Weyr lake. The ground-level weyrs of the queenriders dot the mountain to the northwest. Use '+view queenriders' to view them. The murmur of voices and the clatter of pots and chairs drifts from the Living Cavern, where the evening meal is being served.
The evening is quite cloudy, with only a few open patches to let the stars and the stars. The smaller Belior is a nearly full waxing gibbous while Timor is a nearly full waning gibbous peek through. There seems to be a light breeze and the winter air is cold.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Eugenian Claret

Obvious Exits:
Living Cavern Central Bowl Outer Infirmary Work Room Records Room

Eugenian, flop eared hat and all, is contemplating a clump of snow in his gloved hands, packing it into a ball slow and meticulously. His expression twists with concentration as he tries to get it to stick together just so...And when he's done, he pulls his arm back and lobs the snowball at the stone wall of the weyr, watching how it splatters with a curious cant of his head.

Claret walks into the bowl looking distinctly tickled by something, and by the continuous roll of her eyes upward, it looks as though it might be the hat she's wearing. Hands stuffed in her pockets, as ever, she crunches through the snow. Spotting Eugenian in the midst, she heads toward him, calling out a cheery, "Hullo!"

Eugenian pauses in his study, having the sense to look a bit sheepish for throwing snowballs at the wall. He claps his hands together, brushing snow from his gloves and offers a rather cheerful sounding, "Evening! Having a bit of a stroll? Good night for it."

"Not even snowing," Claret comments by way of agreement, raising a bare hand to demonstrate. "I am taking a walk. I think that's kind of silly, because even if it is nice, it's very cold. But all the same, I wanted to come out. Are you taking a walk, too? You'd better be careful not to go too far."

Eugenian looks at the snow splatters on the wall, then towards the candidate. He nods agreeably, "Oh, yes, I was taking a walk. Cause it's a good night for it." He adds brightly, "And I've decided to stay within the weyr for my walking from now on." Apparently, he's decided that walking along with Claret seems to be a fine idea as he abandons his study to fall in alongside her. He offers, "I'm sorry about that business the other evening. I hope it didn't scare you off."

Claret crunches along with a light step, swinging her elbows in time with her movement. "I must say I think that's very sensible. Of course, being sensible isn't always a good idea, but if it's that or being kidnapped, I suppose one ought to be sensible. And anyway, it's quicker inside, when you stay at the weyr." Tilting her head back and forth in an expression of ambivalence, Claret shrugs. "You mean, when Jaleran came in? He was awfully rude, wasn't he? Were you really making that up?"

Eugenian starts to answer, grimaces, and changes his mind. Instead, he nods, "Yeah. That. Jaleran and I are...well..we're still trying to come to an understanding with one another. I don't think he likes me very well. And I'm not sure about him...But! Amarie likes him, so I'll try my best to like him for her." He pushes up his too big hat with the back of a hand, pushing it out of his eyes with a little sigh. "And you mean about the miners?"

Claret watches Eugenian's facial acrobatics with some interest. "I didn't think either of you liked each other. And he's always pulling out that knife, it's a bit alarming. Amarie said, though, that you said you liked him! I guess you were just trying to be helpful. That's very nice, to try to get on with somebody because your sister likes them." Eugenian's hat fidgets draw a likewise motion from her, except she crams her hat toward around her ears, looking rebellious about it. "Yup! I mean the miners."

Amarie walks here from the north.
Amarie has arrived.

Eugenian confesses rather sheepishly, "I say a lot of things...I don't mean to do it, it just happens. And she would have been so upset if I'd said I didn't like him. So I didn't say that. But, since then, I have seen some small bits of redeeming qualities in him." He looks vaguely unsettled for a moment, and confesses, "And I didn't really meet any miners. I'm sorry to disappoint...but I wasn't doing anything nearly that exciting. Really, I went home for a couple of days." He looks a little uncomfortable at this confession. It's easier to lie than to come clean.

Claret sighs forlornly. "That's all right. I wasn't sure if you were telling the truth, anyway, but it was an interesting story. I think your stories are terribly clever, even if you don't mean to tell them. Isn't that odd? But I don't mind in the least. I guess Jaleran does, and maybe that's why he's so rude?" Blowing out little puffs of air to distract herself, Claret adds, "If I were doing something boring, too, I'd like to be able to make up a story and tell it."

Above, The winter air is cold. The breeze grows into a definite wind and a few people out in the bowl start to hide their faces from it.

Eugenian bites the ends of his gloves to give him enough leverage to pull one off. Once it's off, he sticks his hands up under his cap to scratch his head. He wonders, "Are you warm enough? You know, I don't know that I've ever met someone who didn't mind the stories. I'm not sure I know how to proceed. Usually, I tell my stories, and one of my siblings call me out, and then people start avoiding me after that....At least Jaleran seems like an honest sort. You know, likes everything up front and straight foreward. Nothing wrong with that. It takes all kinds, after all." He scuffs a little in the snow, digging his boots in with each step. It doesn't take him very long before he ventures, "Did I tell you about the time when my brother Haydon ate fifty crawlers?"

Amarie comes out of the caverns, wrapping her coat around herself. She glances out towards the snow and spies her brother along with Claret. She crunches through the snow towards them calling out, "Good evening." to both of them.

Claret shakes her head, exaggerating each motion. "Nope! I'm positively frigid. I even wore a hat." Pointing up at the offending item, she frowns. "I hate hats. And my fingers and toes are cold. But other than that, I'm just fine. Are you warm enough?" she replies in kind, scuffing her feet along through the snow. "Being straightforward is good," she agrees. "But stories are ever so much more interesting, don't you think? Fifty whole crawlers, really? Are they poisonous? That would be quiet dreadf--Oh! Hullo, Amarie!" Claret greets, turning as she hears her greeting.

Eugenian rather quickly offers the glove he had removed to Claret, then starts pulling off the other one as he lifts his chin towards Amarie, "Amarie! Remember when Haydon ate all those crawlers? The healers had to purge his stomach and he was sick for two sevendays, but shells did he earn some respect around the Hall. That's one way to make an impression on people."

"It was fifteen of them and he started throwing up after the one pooped in his mouth," Amarie's face screws in what could be disgust. "And you were egging him on Eugenian which made it worse. You and Edmund. I can't believe you two did that." Like she wasn't there telling him to do that too.

Claret inspects the proffered glove, peering inside of it and the wriggling her fingers into it experimentally. "Hmm," she comments, holding her hand up. "Gloves aren't so bad as mittens." Pulling the glove of she offers it back to Eugenian. "But I'm still not very fond of them. Thanks, though! I shall just resort to my pockets." Pulling a face of distaste, Claret repeats, "Fifteen crawlies? Yuck."

Amarie knits, Eugenian yearns, and Jaleran criticizes

2006-08-08T01:14:46Z

Your location's current time: 16:09 on day 26, month 2, Turn 50, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter afternoon.

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Amarie Pierron Claret
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

Eugenian walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Eugenian has arrived.

Amarie is sitting at a table. She's got two fairly large mittens in a blue color, knitted from yarn. She's also got a hat with earflaps. She's working on trying to stitch a piece of furlined hide to the inside of the cap. She's being very careful to keep her stitches straight and even.

Claret trots directly over to the buffet table, pouring herself a mug of klah. Fidgeting a bit with every step, she starts toward one table, and then switches direction to another. Spotting Amarie she goes to plop herself next to her with a smile. "Afternoon!"

Eugenian skulks into the cavern, his heavy leather coat held in one hand and dragging along the floor behind him. He circumvents the cavern towards the klah pot. He opens the pot, peers inside and snifs at it before closing the lid again. Then he sets it down, picking up an empty mug instead. He peers into it as well, blows into it, wipes it out with a napkin, peers into it one more time, then finally fills it with klah.

Looking up from her work, Amarie smiles at Claret, "Good afternoon." She looks back down to her stitching paying more attention to it. She's almost done putting the lining on the inside. "How's it going today?" She hasn't yet noticed her brother.

Claret doesn't take note of Eugenian quite yet either, peering at Amarie's work. "Mittens? Are you making mittens? I hate mittens," Claret informs her, wrinkling her nose. "Of course, they're lovely for other people," she amends. "But I'm not particularly fond of them. They look very nice, though. I couldn't even begin to do that. Oh, and well! That's how it's going today, that is. What about for you?"

Eugenian doesn't really look around before heading to sit in the chair at the next table, directly behind Amarie, with his back to her. He must have seen her there when he walked in. He settles him, hunching slightly over his mug as he looks into it apprehensively. The klah is really just a cover, though. It's an activity so he looks busy, hiding the real fact that he's spying on his sister, listening in. He goes through his bizarre ritual, regardlessly, of taking a sip of his klah and swishing it around in his mouth, as if it were wine, and spitting it back into the mug.

"It's going well. I'm doing this between jobs," Amarie explains. "I'm almost done. I've been making this for Metri the past sevenday." She shows off the hat. "He had a turnday pass and didn't tell anyone about it."

Claret peers at the hat in turn. "I'm not very fond of hats, either, but I suppose Metri is, so that's awfully nice of you. Did he really have a turnday and not tell? I wonder why? I had mine a bit before I was Searched. Didn't get many presents, though. How'd you find out about it?"

Eugenian glances up from his mug, meeting the peculiar glance from a fellow who was already sitting at his table. His eyebrows go upward as if asking the fellow, 'What?' He slumps down, sipping slowly from the mug, grimacing with each swollow. But, his head cants slightly, just slightly, to better eavesdrop with.

"He told me," Amarie says. "And his parents must have forgotten because they didn't do anything for him." She finishes stitching the fur lining and begins to knot the thread. "So I decided to make these for him, because I have a feeling even if he doesn't impress he'll stay here where it's cold." She smiles. "And Lanisa is going to bake something for him. We're going to throw a small little celebration at the lake for him."

"And even he didn't stay here, he'd probably go somewhere cold, where he'd need them," Claret agrees. "And he can wear them when you're down at the lake, because it sure is chilly out there! Are you and Lani the only ones that know? Guess it's good I wasn't there when he said because then I'd have to make something, and I don't know if I could. Well, I suppose I could, really, but all the same."

Eugenian absently sets his mug down, giving the fellow across from him another odd look before he twists around in his chair. First, he regards Claret, then he peers rather openly over Amarie's shoulder to get a look at what she's working on. He's not nosy or anything. Not a bit.

"He doesn't know about the party," Amarie says to Claret. "But you are more than welcome to come. You just can't tell him. We're going to tell him that Lanisa is teaching me to ice skate again and that he can throw snowballs at her."

Claret runs a finger across her lips with a nod, assuring, "I won't say a single thing. I guess Metri will go, too, won't he, because he likes doing things like that? Did she try to teach you to skate already? It doesn't snow much where you're from, right?" Continuing with her peppering of questions, she's still oblivious to Eugenian's presence.

Eugenian waves a hand behind him, waving off the warning the fellow at his table starts to give him. Something about 'Sometimes it's best to stay out of the affairs of women.' But he wasn't really listening, so for all he knows, the fellow could have actually said, 'Go get'um, boyo!' He cranes his neck, straining to get a better look at the hat Amarie was working on. His chair tips back on two legs, a foot anchoed under the table top to keep himself from falling over.

Amarie nods at Claret. "Yes she did try to teach me to skate but I ended up hurting myself," She raises her chin pointing at it. "I scraped my chin really bad but you can't tell because it was like a month or so ago." She shakes her head, "And no it doesn't snow as much as it does here. That's why I was so excited about the learning to skate." She suddenly pauses as if she senses someone is hovering, her head whipping around, hand coming up as if to push whomever it is away from her. It takes her a moment to realize it's her brother. "Eugenian!" She exclaims. "Where have you been the past few days?"

Claret inspects Amarie's chin for a moment before lowering her attention to her klah, wrapping her fingers around the mug and taking a sip. "I learned to skate when I was little. I like it pretty well, and I don't fall -too- much." Turning her glance back to Amarie's chin, though there's nothing to be seen, she nods decisively. "You ought to still try again, though. You will, right? Anyway, I... Say," she interrupts herself, turning to Eugenian with a fascinated expression. "You've been missing for days?"

Eugenian's chair rocks back onto all four legs, as was intended, when he's discovered. He mms, "About." He scratches his cheek and notes, "Nice hat. Klah?" He reaches for his half drunk mug, offering it to Amarie. He glances towards Claret, as he sits back on his knees in his chair, "Oh, I wouldn't say I was missing, exactly. Just not here."

Amarie shakes her head at the offer of klah. "Not right now Eugenian," she says to him. "But thanks." She turns the hat back upon itself and reveals it's red yarn used to knit the cap on the outside. She places it next to the blue mittens. "Finished," she smiles. "I really hope he likes these. It's the best I can make on such short notice."

Claret regards the mittens again, tightening her hands convulsively on her mug as she thinks of the cold outside. "Probably he will," she remarks blithely before training that fascinated gaze on Eugenian again. "You weren't missing, but you weren't here? If Amarie didn't know where you were, though, you were missing, weren't you? That's rather exciting. You didn't get kidnapped, did you?"

Eugenian opens his mouth to reply, but his gaze slants towards Amarie. He hesitates, then nods his head yes to Claret, hoping Amarie won't see, while he verbally states, "I went for a walk. No thread, so nothing to worry about, you know? After a couple of days, I got awfully cold, though, so I decided to come back."

Amarie lowers her head as if hiding a giggle. She stands to her feet and collects her mittens and hat. "I'm going to go hide these so Metri doesn't see them. I'll see you guys in a little while." She giggles and heads out, tossing an amused smile at her brother. Claret has been warned.

Amarie walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Amarie has left.

Claret opens her mouth to respond to Amarie, but as she gets up and leaves, a hand is raised to wave instead. "Well," she begins in a slightly disappointed tone. "Getting kidnapped would have been interesting, don't you think? Except you wouldn't have gotten to choose to come back when you got really cold, and that would be too bad. Whyever would you want to go walking for two whole days in the middle of winter?"

Eugenian looks after Amarie as she walks away, and immediately leans his arms on the back of his chair, turning very animated as soon as he's safe. "I just said that so she wouldn't get upset. I really did get kidnapped. By miners. I know, I know, it sounds crazy! But I did go for a walk, and on by way, these miners stumbled on me and made me come back to their little minehold up in the mountains with them. They said they were bored. Winter is a boring time, you know. So they wanted someone to entertain them. I've never had to sing and dance before, but they seemed to enjoy it, so I must not have been completely awful." He adds, "But I had to escape, because I knew Amarie would worry."

Claret regards Eugenian dubitably for a moment, weighing the likelihood of such an occurrence against her interest in its being true. "Well..." she draws out, tapping a finger absently against her nose as she thinks. "It's very unlikely, but if you really have been missing for the past few days, I suppose it's true, isn't it? I mean, nobody in their right mind would go walking for days in the middle of winter, would they? That's really dreadful, anyway. But it sounds very exciting! How'd you escape?"

Eugenian takes a moment to sip from his mug of quickly cooling klah, making a little face as he does so. "Mm, it really wasn't that dreadful. They fed me well and gave me a warm place to sleep. And..." He hesitates again, then sighs and admits, "I didn't really escape. They let me go. But I promised to come back sometime and visit. Miners can get awfully lonely, you know. It's a solitary life. And, well, now I always have a place to go when Am gets mad at me."

Claret watches Eugenian sideways as she sips her klah likewise. "That's too bad," she comments fretfully. "That you didn't escape. I mean, that you don't have some kind of an adventure to tell relating to your escape. Of course it's very good that they just let you go, because otherwise you might have been there forever! I'm glad I'm not a miner. I wouldn't like to get so lonely I have to kidnap folk who are taking walks. Did you have to sing and dance an awful lot?"

Eugenian leans his chin on the top of the chair back, nodding as he regards the girl. Is she buying it? Or is she just letting him think she's buying it? He can't seem to decide. "Oh yes. I went through every teaching ballad I knew, every gather dance, and ever rowdy song I could think of. It really was a good time, come to think of it. But don't tell, Am, alright? She doesn't always approve of the things I do, you see."

Claret, for her part, can't quite decide whether to buy the story or not. Tugging at her earlobe, she considers. "I don't see why not. Why she wouldn't approve, I mean. Singing rowdy songs, teaching ballads, and dancing up in the mountains with miners while missing doesn't really seem like such a conspicuously awful thing, does it? But I would tell!" Running a finger over her lips again, she nods briskly over her second secret of the day. "Say... How many miners were there? Did they grab you and take you hostage when you weren't looking?"

Eugenian can't seem to help himself from making his story more grandiose, as it has been pretty mellow so far. "Six of them. Big burly fellows. And they caught me in a snare. I stepped right into it. I should have seen it. But I didn't, and the next thing I knew, whooop, I was hanging upside down by my ankles." He pauses and adds, "They were quite abashed when they found me. Apologized all over themselves. And, they gave me this great hat." He leans and pulls a big flap-eared plaid hat from the pocket of his coat, not too unlike the hat Amarie was just making.

"Oh no!" Claret exclaims, putting a hand to her mouth to wipe away the remnants of a swallow of klah she nearly spit out. It wasn't one of those snares with teethy things, was it?" she asks, miming chomping with her fingers to demonstrate. "But they aren't used so much, are they? Because of the metal." All the same, she bends to have a look at Eugenian's legs, searching for telltale signs of injury. "It was very nice of them to apologize, anyway, and particularly to give you a hat!" That it's like Amarie's, she doesn't appear to notice.

Eugenian shakes his head quickly, "No, no. No teeth. Just rope. The sort my brother and I used to use to catch tunnelsnakes that were hanging around da's corrals." He plops the floppy eared hat on his head. It's a little big for him, falling partially over his eyes. He pushes it back, the pom on top wiggling. "As far as miners go, they were pretty nice. Nothing like the miners I used to know back at Crom. Now, those were some grumpy miners."

Jaleran walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Jaleran has arrived.

Taking care of relief first, Claret smiles happily. "Oh, good. It would have been dreadful if you'd lost a foot or something. Then it wouldn't be at all surprising if they gave you a hat for your troubles." Distracted by the wiggling pom, it takes Claret a moment to inquire, "Crom?" in a puzzled tone. "Amarie said you were just making that up. I mean, about the felines and foster family and all of that. So how come you knew grumpy miners in Crom?"

Eugenian tuts softly, taking another moment to sip from his mug before he continues, "I do a lot of things Amarie doesn't know about. I mean, she's been here for months now. I've had a lot of time to wander around and explore. Useless, you see, according to my da. So I've been searching for something to make me useful. I spent a month at Crom, considering the Minecraft." If there were ever a man who looked unlikely to be a miner, it would be this scrawny young fellow. "It didn't pan out."

Claret nods, accompanied by an enlightened, "Oh... Well, that explains that. Were the miners really awful? The Crom miners, I mean. I wonder if Crom miners are more disposed to be dreadful than ones at Telgar? Except that doesn't make sense, because they all have to be at Crom sometime, don't they? Anyway, did you go lots of other places, too? And all by yourself?"

Jaleran, freshly washed with hair still damp from the hot pools, has made his way in and past the serving tables long enough to snatch up a handful of fruit and cider pitcher to take with him to a seat. He catches the tail end of Claret's attempt to call Eugenian on his tale and the response, "Or it could be that she knows you well enough to know when you're lying around your teeth." His smile of greeting to Claret is much more friendly. He punctuates his statement to Eugenian by unsheathing his long water-steel knife and using it to slice through the rind of a small melon.

Eugenian was all set to answer the question, but then he hears Jaleran, and his gaze snaps up to the tall fellow with a dark gaze. He snatches his too big hat off his head, his hair mused from it. He wonders, "What do you know about me, huh? You don't know me. Didn't your momma teach you any manners?" He shakes his head, brow furrowed, as he glances back at Claret, adding, "Sorry, pardon my outburst." He looks vaguely befuddled for a moment.

Claret sends a puzzled glance between Jaleran and Eugenian. "That was a bit rude, you know, Jaleran. But hullo!" She smiles brightly before regarding Eugenian thoughtfully. "Are you yarning? It's a bit difficult to tell, you know. Because it's very interesting, sometimes, though not half as interesting as the feline story, I must say. That's all right, anyway. I mean about the outburst. Both of you seem a bit muddled."

Jaleran shrugs, "My mother, along with her dragon, died fighting Thread when I was too young to remember such things. As for what I know about you..." He puts half the melon on the table and idly thrusts the knife into it to keep, then starts counting off his points on the free hand. "I know you attempted to play out no less than three blatant lies to your own sister your first day here. I know you've been banding around about some encounter with felines - which I'd be very interested in hearing, as I've hunted them in the past. And I have no reason to believe that you've had any great experience traveling, or that you've spent any length of time at Crom since Amarie was Searched, since the mountain passes in this area and around Crom have been blocked by snow since mid-autrumn." As a not-quite-appology for his rudeness around Claret, he shrugs to her with a half-smile, "I was taught that the truth is more important than manners in most all cases."

Eugenian finds himself with a rare, if fleeting, smile, repeating, "Yarning..I like that." Then his smile is gone, his expression hardening slightly, and he doesn't really answer about whether he was indeed spinning a story or not. He shakes his head. "I haven't any call to answer to you, whatever your name was. What I do is my business and not yours. If you're going to talk to me like that, then naturally I'm not going to be too inclined to talk to you." And he lifts his mug, making a face at the cold temperature of his klah, and mumbles into his mug to himself, "..don't know what she sees in him."

Claret continues to look back and forth between the two, a miffed expression dwelling on her features. "Truth is good," she comments ambiguously. "Stories are good too. Especially if they're interesting stories. Um," she continues, halting uncertainly over the word, looking a bit lost. "I expect it's just a lot of misunderstanding?" she suggests helpfully. "After all, some stories are likely as not to be true, aren't they?"

Jaleran nods his agreement with Claret, "Yes, stories are good. But trying to spin a tale into truth, just to get people interested in you..." He shrugs diffidently, turning his attention back to his light snack. "There's one person, at least, in his family that can tell the difference." He jerks his thumb at Eugenian to punctuate the remark. When he glances briefly at the boy, he notices the hat that had been so hastily removed upon his arrival. He doesn't remark about it, but makes a mental note as he finishes removing the melon's rind and slicing up the pieces small enough to be skewered on the end of his knife for easier eating.

Eugenian's chest swells, his posture straightening. Anger? There's definitely something dark in his features. But then...he glances between the two candidates, and the steam for his mood runs out rather abruptly. He finishes the last of his cold klah, setting the mug away, and offers, "Well. If you don't like stories about me, how about stories about Amarie? Did she tell you the one about the fish she caught? That was a good one."

Claret hides her face in her klah mug for the duration of Jalerean's commentary. At Eugenian's offer for a story about Amarie, though, her head pops up in interest. "A story about Amarie? Oh, I'd like to hear one. Though..." Looking down at her near empty mug of klah, she observes, "I haven't quite finished chores, so I should probably go and take care of that before coming back to eat dinner." Unfolding herself from her seat, she gives Jaleran and Eugenian bright waves, and trying to ignore the animosity, heads out.

Plans for the future, Pern without Thread, and a battle in the snow

2006-08-08T01:13:17Z

Telgar's Weyrgardens(#7772RDFJLM$)
Here, the rocky hillside of the Telgar volcano has been cleared and terraced into several cascading gardens. Stone walls have been built and the resulting shelves filled in with fertile earth from the Telgar Plains, supplemented by fertilizer from the compost heap. Waterways have been carved into the stone of the mountain to divert water to some gardens and away from others. In the winter, straw and burlap tarps cover the ground and protect it, but once spring arrives, this is as lush a place as any at the Weyr.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Breena Amarie Tobay Jaleran Velano Claret

Obvious Exits:
+roomhelp will assist you with scene commands.

"Hey!" Velano is nudged. Quickly, he transfers the snowball from one hand to the other, freeing a hand to slap out for the wayward boot that got him in the thigh, seeking to gently capture the offending foot. "Yes, way to avoid the subject. It was a misspeak, is all," he informs Breena, seeking her eyes with his dark gaze for a moment, expression conveying dishonesty mixed with a wordless plead. He turns attention back to Tobay after a glance past at Jaleran, a nod accompanied by, "That sounds perfect. Please?" To his Holdmate, he replies, deadpan, "You could stay, too, you know. Even if -- not."

Amused, Breena remarks, "You mentioned the bubbly eating contest before, I can't even imagine. Just...ew. Ew." The snow on top of the coat earns a giggle, then she's shaking her head at Jaleran's offer. "I'm good, myself. Assisting the Headwoman, Amarie? I thought about that, I'd probably have to go home to do it, though." Somehow, that doesn't sound like a pleasant prospect when she says it, but she's quickly distracted as her foot's caught. "Hey!" Lips purse when she catches that look, but she doesn't press, instead falls silent, thoughtful.

Jaleran passes the skin to Amarie, "Here you are, send it on the rounds when you're done." Velano's last remark sobers him slightly, which since he was subdued when he arrived... "If there's no dragon for me here this clutch, I... don't really know what I'm going to do." His voice sounds a little like he might be suprising himself at this. "And since I didn't say anything earlier, I'll keep things quiet from Metri, Amarie." He grins slightly to her, then closes his coat up again since the hot skin is no longer bundled up to keep the cold away.

Tobay's face screws up just a bit, and he knocks loose the bicep-enhancing snowball, flicking it in Amarie's direction. "I was all hoping you'd want to stay here to assist the headwoman, but if you've got a hankering to be at home, you'd serve your family well. I don't know what I'd do either, exactly, but that's not new for me." A look at Jaleran to see how he takes her news, then he holds out his hand for the warm cider skin. "Bubblies're good. Ohh, Pass it over here, too, please. Better hit me last, though."

Amarie takes a drink from the skin and passes it on to Velano who was next in line to receive it. She turns her head to Jaleran and murmurs something low to him. She mutters to Jaleran, "... you... more than... to come home... it..." She and the others are sitting on a tarp against one of the stone walls of the garden. The snowball from Tobay hits her causing her to flinch a little.

It's not unpleasant to be a foot in captivity if the captor has nothing better in mind than to slightly massage the captive. Velano's hand rubs idly the shape of the boot. "You traveled up this way," he tells Jaleran thoughtfully. "Would you go on? You know people here, and we all know how to work here, how to get on and be part of the Weyr -- " He pauses, attention transferring to Amarie. The snowball in his free hand is rolled from fingertips to the heel of the hand and back. "Or, I suppose, you might not know what you'll do after this. That makes sense." Good save.

Claret trudges into the gardens, her elbows flapping while her hands are tucked very securely into her pockets. Spotting the other candidates, she starts making her way toward them, stomping at the snow with each step, the result of her energies being extra large footprints. Smiling brightly at the group, she looks at each curiously when she gets close enough to hear their conversation. "Hullo!"

"Seems a little different," Breena remarks, "for people who grew up at a Weyr. The thought about what happens if not. Bubblies *are* good." This to Tobay, adding, "In moderation!" A curious look is passed between Jaleran and Amarie, then she frees a mitten-covered hand to wave to Claret before she nods to Velano. "I heard a couple of the others saying that they weren't sure what they were going to do after, either."

Jaleran's expression softens and warms at Amarie's words and he nods briefly, "I know. And I did promise." What that promise is he doesn't say, but it seems to be something he's happy about. Breena's comment gets a nod from him, "That's one part of it." He doesn't elaborate about the rest, though. "Hello, Claret. Get your chores finished after that meal break? And yes, I managed to not kill him after left." He makes light of the second part with what might be a grin forming.

Tobay finds his shoes, then the arrival of Claret, very interesting, giving Amarie and Jaleran a private moment for her quite words. Tobay scoots sideways on the stone slab where he sits, pats the snowmelt that has formed a refrozen seat shape. "Looks like I warmed you a seat, this time, Claret. Care to rest?" A half-shrug and an apple-cheeked grin accompany a look to Breena, "I've never been known for moderation, I'm afraid." A shiver, then he looks again at Jaleran. "I never did hear the rest of those stories about you and the felines, but we could use the furs about now. Don't suppose you could make a really big blanket from 'em, say in the next few minutes or so?"

Amarie reaches down and idly palms some snow in her hands. She plays with the snow in her fingers until she forms a semi-little snowball. "I meant it." She smiles at Jaleran. "We'd be happy to have you. Eugenian even said he likes you." Of course that could have been a lie, but she's taking it for truth to be happy. That snowball gets chunked at Tobay in revenge for throwing some on her earlier.

"Why not just stay?" Velano is obviously confused on this point, or stubborn, or both, though he nods a silenct concession to Jaleran and, by extension, Amarie, for their separate and possibly-linked considerations for leaving the Weyr. "Hello, Claret," he calls, raising a hand from Breena's booted foot to wave. The hand does not quite dare to descend to that spot again, however, and hangs over the edge of his knee, fingertips again fraying the edge of the burlap he's settled on. The snowball flying toward his travelmate catches his attention, and he leans back to flash a glaring grin at Amarie, hefting his own little snowball in mock threat: "Don't make me start this!"

Claret crunches through to the snow and sits herself down on the warmed slab. "Thanks ever so, Tobay. It's awfully nice to know there are other competent seatwarmers who can make my job much easier." Looking over at Jaleran, she grins faintly. "Oh, good. I was a bit worried, you two didn't seem to get on at -all-. And I did get all my chores done, yes." Looking from person to person she comments with cheerful ambivalence, "I know what I'm doing, after."

Once more, Breena's brow furrows, this time at Jaleran's response, but she doesn't question, just nods once, thoughtful. Her expression brightens at Tobay, and lips curve into a smile. "I suppose not--you probably wouldn't win many pie eating contests if you did." Her booted foot released, she glances down for a moment, then digs the toes of her boots in the snow below her, idly. Looking up to Claret, she asks, "What're you doing after?"

Jaleran's expression about Amarie's comment regarding Eugenian is mildly disbelieving, but no so much that he'll contradict her. "What are your plans, Claret?" He shrugs at Tobay, "I'm not that good, and the pelts aren't that big." But about finishing the story he doesn't comment. He simply grins about the escalating chance for snow-war.

Tobay's face is turned toward Claret as Amarie's snowball is incoming, and it scatters ice crystals down the inside of his jacket. "Wha?" His head turns back toward the group, his sputtering indicating his confusion. Eyes settling on Velano, he decides his holdmate must be guilty, and his hand dips cuplike into the snow, then lifts, sending a cascade toward Vel and Breena while his other hand clears his face. "Yeah, I could stay, if my lifemate's not out there. If I can find a craft that'll suit. I can't pick between baking, nursery-work--the tree kind, not the littles kind--or mining, and I'm not getting any younger. Glad to help your self-confidence, Claret. What're you up to?"

Amarie sits back, maintaining total innocence in the 'snowball tossing' at Tobay. In what would make Eugenian very proud, she lies pointing at Velano and saying, "He did it." Most assuredly this will cause revenge to be had, but then the wild grin that threatens to overtake her face as she looks at Velano promises she knows how to start a snowball war.

"Hey! That wasn't me!" Velano squints eyes shut too late, sprayed over by snowflakes flung by Tobay. The snowball, so long meltingly tempted in his palm, goes flying toward the rounder candidate on his stone slab. "But that was," he adds, absolutely serious with glee, and scoops more snow. "Now, wonder who /was/ at fault?" Naturally, Velano knows, his gaze falling not-coincidentally upon the gray-green eyed candidate. "Whomever it was ought to have snow down her -- or his -- back!" In as long as it takes to say so, the young man stretches and scrambles to his feet.

Claret watches Tobay get hit with great interest, and following the resulting snowballs, she answers. "Oh, I'm going to stay here and keep working in the lower caverns until my gran dies, and then I'll probably go back to my Hall, and do the same thing there. Terribly boring, really." Looking rather as disbelieving as Jaleran that Eugenian would say he liked the candidate, Claret bestows a benificent smile on Tobay. "Well, you know, I was also complimenting you on your seat warming abilities." Slipping a hand out of her pocket to test, she nods. "Very warm."

Breena splutters, wiping snow out of her face, and this time, she tries nudging Tobay with the toe of her boot. "Hey! Cut that out." She lets the latest round of post-hatching discussion pass and, grinning, leans back, the better to let that snowball Velano throws pass her by. "Not boring, Claret--at least you've got a plan."

Tobay, for the second time in moments, is under attack, and a wide target he presents. Snow dapples his hair and his jacket, leaving red dots on his skin where it melts away. "Yeah, I've got an ample form to work with, you know. Have to be up there in the line." He hops off of the slab, scooting a circle around Claret to get behind it and coming up with a snowball. "You'd be guaranteed a place, I'm sure, if you stay. Hate to ruin your saved seat, but this could get ugly. Unless you'd like to protect me, of course. I could use a shield." With this announcement, he lobs one toward Amarie in a counterattack.

When the snow starts flying, Jaleran does the valiant, noble thing... he leans backwards so none of it hits him, then leans to scoop up the skin of warm cider that was passed around and stick it back into his coat. "Don't look at me with any of that, I'm totally innocent!" Right... innocent. And his hands, stuck under his arms again, aren't using his body as cover to scoop snow up, either.

Amarie shrieks and is jumping up from her seat a moment later to try to dash forward away from the snowball throwing. She trips over her coattails though and goes flying into a snowbank. Laughing and pushing herself up, she collects a handful. As Tobay's snowball hits her back she turns and flings snow in all directions, probably hitting at least one or two people.

Velano pauses to take in the exchange between Tobay and Claret. His eyes slide upward, but he resists temptation to dismiss the interplay with a true roll skyward, turning his head to turn the gaze on Amarie, sharpening a comment: "You started this!" He bends to scoop snow, which is great timing, since it results in Amarie's snow-flinging putting a spray of chilly droplets down the nape of his neck. "Awrg," he remarks, rising upright with one hand of snow -- soon flung at the fallen candidate -- and one hand clawing mock-feline scratches in Tobay's generalized direction.

Claret looks dubious about the benefits of seatwarming versus acting as a shield. "No," she concludes, scooting to the side slightly. "I don't think I particularly want to be a shield. I'll just warm a new seat. In the snow." And because nowhere else looks quite safe with all the snowballs zooming around now, she slides over the other side of the bench and into the snow next to Tobay. "But I will help defend you," she offers graciously, unpocketing her hands to start forming a snowball. From behind the bench she calls to Breena in an assuring tone, "No, it's quite boring! I tried it before, and it has its moments, but it's not much fun. It's not really a plan, it's what I'll do in lack of a plan." Dismissing the subject, though, she attends to her snowball again, throwing it somewhere vaguely in the direction of the attacking ones.

Gevra has arrived.

Breena, too, does her best to stay out of the line of fire, though she does squeak as one of the bites of snow that Amarie flings hits her. And still, she doesn't fight back, instead just making herself as small as possible, crossing her arms over her face. It's behind crossed arms that she tries to make a response to Claret, and she manages, though it's probably pretty muffled. "Better to have some plan than nothing, I think!"

Tobay's cover point behind the slab is a perfect hiding spot, except for those slippery tarps and woven straw pits that trap his ankles and protect what will be garden and flower spots in the spring. He takes an Amarie-lobbed ball in the back, and ooofs. As he struggles to his feet, he makes feline claws back, loses his balance, and topples forward next to Claret, leaving his back vulnerable. "How kind of you," he muffle-speaks, scrambling to his feet. "It's a start, even if you don't want to spend your life at it. Ohhh, My valiant champion!" His hands come to his breast, and he fakes a swoon, hooting in laughter. A row of snowballs are aimlessly launched from where he falls as he goes down again.

Jaleran takes one of Tobay's snowballs on the chest. He just looks down at it, then up at Tobay, then down, then up again. Each time he looks up his expression changes subtly until... "Of course, you know this means war." His hands emerge from behind him, each one filled with a number of small snowballs. Both handsful get lobbed in the direction of Tobay and Claret, the snowballs scattering in a spread as they fly.

Amarie laughs as she takes two snowballs from Tobay's quarter, one on the leg and one on the back. She scoops up handfuls of snow and begins to make herself a little artillery of snowballs. When she has five of them formed they each get lobbed one at a time at people.

The butcher, free of snowballs for a moment, just stands there next to his folded bit of burlap, taking snowballs right and left -- Tobay and Claret, right, and Amarie, left. "You could learn something about trees with Tobay -- " He whirls in place, lifting an elbow to ward off a snowball which powders in a snowy explosion on contact. "Hey, hey, truce!" He scrapes snow off of his hip and flings the bits ineffectively in Amarie's direction, then repeats, "Truce! I think we're snowing on people who don't want to be in the middle of it." The spoilsport lifts both arms overhead, shielding his laughing face.

Gevra looks around with her eyebrows raised. "My. What a productive activity for a winter evening. You do realize we'll still have chores bright and early tomorrow morning." She climbs, quite nimbly considering her voluminous coat, to a seat up on top of one of the short walls, outside of the apparent crossfire.

Amarie eyes Gevra's distance and then creates a snowball and lobs it at the anti-fun candidate.

Claret makes an undignified squeaking noise as she's showered by the snow that broke through the defenses. Hastily balling up more snow, she regards Tobay skeptically for a moment before giving him a majestic nod. "Exactly. I shall be your champion, and I won't quite defend you to my death, because I'd really rather be living, but I shall try to make sure you don't die too." Throwing a handful of snow at Jaleran and Amarie, she ducks back down, muttering, "Truce? Huh."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Breena protests, quick to get to her feet and skirt the fight. Though she's hit by a couple in the process, she still manages to get herself out of range without *too* much fuss. Her hands are tucked behind her back and she observes the fight for awhile, then shakes her head, grinning. "I think it's time for dinner..." She doesn't raise her voice at all, so she may well go unheard, but she gives one last look to the combatants before she starts away.

"You do realize that this is our time, not the Weyr's." Jaleran frowns at Gevra's words, the distraction leaving him open to Claret's attack. Fortunately he uses a hooded coat, not a hat, so there's no open neck for the snow hitting the back of his head to slip down through. Velano's call for truce, then Breena's call for dinner both get a grin and a nod of agreement, "Both sound good to me, but mostly dinner. Because that's inside. Where it's warm." He extols the virtues of the inside as he brushes off his coat.

Tobay peeks his head up behind their defensive progression at just the wrong moment, taking a volley of snow to the head and shoulders. "True, Claret," he starts, before the sized lad is spitting out snow. "Yech, ow, hey!" Cheerful sounds of good cold fun, and Tobay's eyes widen at Velano. "You? Breaking up a fight?" He takes the last few tossed from Jaleran, which cause him to wince from the force of their attack. "Alas. We shall have to aim at...Gevra!" Changing his focus, he aims a few at the prim Candidate, though he holds his fire. "Wait, did you say dinner?"

"Besides," Velano remarks, looking down at where his boots have spread muddy footprints through the snow, "I worry about what we might be doing to whatever's under the mats. Another snowball, among the last, pegs him in the shoulder and he brushes the crystals off, squinting around with a good-natured grin for its source. "Yea, me breaking up a fight. I can't help it; you got involved, and I know I'm outclassed," he smirks toward Tobay.

Gevra ducks Amarie's snowball, but ends up overbalancing and ending up falling backwards into the raised flower bed behind her. She pulls herself upright, showing sparkling white hair and a snow-covered coat.

Amarie stops throwing snowballs when the others do. "Going inside sounds good to me," She agrees her cheeks red with the wind and cold. She brushes snow off her coat and off her skirt.

Claret makes no further effort to throw or create any snowballs, as the desire for dinner, warmth, or at least peace seems to have outweighed the battle. Dusting snow off of her, she comments, "Dinner doesn't sound entirely too awful, though it sure is late. At least it's warm." Rubbing her raw fingers together, she stuffs them back in her pockets with gusto, slipping backward in preparation for standing.

Gevra hops down from her perch. "I was wondering where all you guys were. I'd gotten used to all the noise, I couldn't go to sleep in the quiet." She manages to brush all of the snow off of her coat, but her hair is drenched.

"Dinner," Breena repeats, flashing a grin at Tobay. "I'm not so worried about warm, I'd just...oh! Are you okay?" she asks of Gevra, concerned, then she straightens. "Inside'll be better for all of you with wet clothes. If we all got sick, we'd probably all get into trouble."

Tobay brushes white dust from his hair and face, then his coat and trousers. "Glad you know when you're on the losing side," he jests with the butcher, then he sobers. "Oh, would't want to hurt the plants. Not a good idea." A look toward the flower bed, "Gevra? You ok? We've reached an impasse; meal time wins." He shivers. "Yeah, it's cold."

Jaleran looks between Claret and Gevra, "Late? Go to sleep? It's barely after sunset. The moons haven't even risen yet!" He finishes brushingg the snow off of the places he can reach on himself, then nods to Velano, "Yeah, we don't want to trample anything, and there's less wind further down the bowl." He shakes his head in wonder at some people's idea of 'late', then nods to Breena, "Get into trouble or worse, miss the hatching. The eggs are very hard. It won't be long now, two or three sevendays at the most." This spoken with the quiet authority of one who has marks on the issue.

"They might be next spring's supper," Velano grins down at the snow-coated soil. "Dinner would be good. Maybe we can take plates into the galleries, or somewhere -- out of the way?" He casts a glance at Claret, expression wry, and folds his arms over his chest before adding, lowly, "I have a feeling there aren't much in the way of rules about where we can't eat, as long as we're tidy."

Gevra shakes her head briskly, shedding snow and water drops. "I'm fine, but cold. Inside sounds marvelous."

Claret stands and hops away from anywhere that looks like it might have plants underneath, not at all inclined to ruin next spring's supper. Letting the remainder of the snow on her stick for the moment she nods toward Velano, her expression solemn. "I gather so. But all the same, I think there are some places that it's best to avoid eating. Just not sensible. Not that it's any fun to be sensible, of course."

Gevra shakes her head sternly at Claret's comment. "There's a lot of fun in being sensible. If you behave sensibly, you don't get into trouble. That's much better." She leans over the wall to look at the section of plants she fell into. "It's winter and the plants are probably dormant. I'm not sure how much we can hurt." She doesn't sound confident, though, and she reaches out her ungloved hand to straighten a few plants.

Breena's expression goes blank at Jaleran's comment and she nods. "Well," she attempts cheerfulness, "at least we'd know one way or another then, wouldn't we?" She wipes snow off the back of her coat, turns, grins over her shoulder at the others, and starts back toward the Weyr proper.

Tobay makes a face as his mind gets away from him, thinking of places not to eat. "Yuch. I can think of some. Maybe the galleries would be okay, if you-know-who isn't ready to breathe fire on us." This said, he joins the line back toward warmth.

"Just don't feed Alzaeth any firestone and he can't breathe fire," Amarie tells Tobay as she makes her way out towards the bowl. "Then you won't get charred." She pauses at the entrance to wait for the others. Or more specifically a certain 7ft candidate to catch up.

Gevra shakes snow off of her fingers, tucks them into her pockets, and follows the exodus toward the bowl.

"Maybe I can tease a raw steak out of Pierron just in case. Maybe two, if her mate's there," the butcher remarks, stepping into line aside Tobay, watching Breena lead with a faintly googly expression. "Just a little distractive... treat. Alzaeth, that's his name," Velano notes, echoing Amarie's unintentional identification of the bronze in question.

Tobay has left.

Gevra has left.

Jaleran walks up next to Amarie, offering to brush the snow off her back, "The galleries should be a good place for warm, even with a snack." Of course to him anything less than three platesful is a snack, not a meal. "Practical is boring. If I were a sensible, practical person, I'd still be stuck at Honshu lugging ten dragonweight a day in cargo."

With Calla's permission, you mount Gimelth and the Blue rises above the Sky Over Telgar's Weyrgardens, taking you back to Telgar... Gimelth lands and you dismount in the Central Bowl.

Gevra walks south.
Gevra has left.

You walk south.

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the late meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Breena Pierron Tobay Gevra Claret
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

Velano walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Velano has arrived.

Breena pauses at the tunnel leading into the living cavern to stomp her feet, sending clumps of snow and ice falling to the stone floor below. Cheeks flushed, she continues inside, flashes a quick glance to Pierron, grinning, and heads straight for the meal tables. The plate she fixes up for herself is a spare one--some greens and a meatroll or two--then she's off to a table that's big enough for the group to claim, with room left over for anyone else who might turn up.

Tobay joins the line for a warm beverage, which is procured without incident, then he aims for the table, taking a place where he can murmur to Breena. Quiet words are shared with the seamstress, then he scoots down to make room for the rest of the group, a flush light on his cheeks as he brushes last bits of melting snow from his hair.

Claret walks into the cavern at a stomp as well, pouring lots of energy into each step and shaking snow off of her. Her red hands are not pulled out of her pockets until she goes to take a plate. Filling it with warm food, she juggles it in one hand as she goes to get a mug of klah. Arms full, she heads over to join Breena and Tobay, setting her plate, mug, and self down near them.

Tobay's dash-ahead catches Velano's attention, and his hush-hush with Breena piques it. Dark brows arching upward, he frowns over a plate he's stacking with steaks -- cooked -- and boiled egg with green winterspears. "So are we going to the galleries, or have you all been sucked in by the warmth?" Not that he's uncomfortable in it, taking the moment to doff his hat and stuff it in a pocket before picking up his plate again from the edge of the serving table.

Gevra appropriates a clean towel from the kitchen and dries her hair before joining the other Candidates at the table. She doesn't grab food, just a glass of water.

Surprised, Breena grins at Tobay, but she nods, murmuring back a quiet, "We can talk about it later?" Then, she smiles at Velano over her shoulder, shaking her head. "We can eat out there, I don't mind. Either place is fine, it all ends up tasting the same, I guess." She looks up at the others, shrugs, and smiles. "I'll go wherever, just say where."

Rising with his mug, Tobay's flush hangs around his still snow-red ears and he nods to Breena, then grins at Velano. "Galleries, near the rail are pretty warm from the sands. We could aim for there, if you want, and egg watch. Really, they're that close to hatching, Jaleran? You think so?" Steps take him to the dessert area, and he makes away with a leftover pastry, gnawing at it.

Gevra sniffs. "Not for me. It's late and I, at least, want to wake up in time for tomorrow's chores." She finishes her glass of water and heads back to the Candidate Barracks.

Gevra walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Gevra has left.

"Maybe we'll see one shake or something," Velano grins, setting his plate down yet another time to make up and add to his carrying efforts a mug of watered klah. "Sorry to hear it, Gevra," he cracks, looking after the leaving girl from his pouring. "If I get infirmary again, you can take it from me, huh?"

Claret regards Tobay quite curiously before Gevra's departing words draw a blank look. Waving after the girl, though, Claret takes a big gulp of klah, and muttering slightly afterward she opens her mouth and fans it with her hand. "The galleries aren't too cold. If it's really that close to hatching, it might be exciting to watch!" she observes enthusiastically.

Brow furrowed, Breena watches as Gevra leaves, but ultimately, shakes her head after the other girl. "They're closer now than they were a month ago," she comments, pointing out the obvious. "If we see one shaking, I'll just hide behind someone else. I wouldn't want the dragons to think that it was our fault or anything like that."

Tobay looks toward the entrance of the area, then frowns. "Jaleran? --Did we lose them?" He shakes his head, then counts the rest of the Candidate heads in the room, a grin coming over his face. "Looks like they lost us, maybe on purpose." A funny sidelong look to Gevra, and yet another headshake. "Chores. Be careful, Gevra, it's past bedtime and you might not be able to beat tapestries if you don't get enough rest. Aw, Breena, don't fret. Velano'd protect you. C'mon." And he and his drink and dessert head out.

"If one's shaking," Velano remarks, "It's because it should be. They're too big to shake because we got near. Besides, I bet the dragons are as anxious to have them hatch as we are." The butcher lifts his plate and mug and pauses by Breena, bowing his head a bit to the side to sort of attempt to gesture her out ahead of him. "Can you imagine it? Sitting on that hot sand for months. 'Here I sit, watching my babies, which don't even move.' Poor Liabeth."

Tobay walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Tobay has left.

Breena walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Breena has left.

You walk down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.

Velano comes out of the short tunnel from the living cavern.
Velano has arrived.

Breena walks north.
Breena has left.

Velano walks north.
Velano has left.

You walk north.

Breena walks off towards the Galleries.
Breena has left.

Velano walks off towards the Galleries.
Velano has left.

You make your way from the bowl, through the massive entrance to the Hatching Cavern.

Galleries(#382RDJM$)
Stretching along the eastern wall of the hatching cavern, these tiers of seats have enough room for several hundred spectators for Clutchings and Hatchings. To one side, long shallow steps descend to the entrance. There is also a railing separating the lowest tier of seats from the Hatching Sands themselves. Other parts of the galleries are closed off from the sands by a wall to the north and south. From here you can reenter the bowl, or follow the pathway down to the Sands.
The evening is partly cloudy, though when the clouds clear briefly you can see the stars. The smaller Belior shines in half moon while Timor shines brightly as a full moon. A light wind blows and the winter air is freezing against you. The ground is icy beneath your feet.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Breena Velano Claret

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Sands

Tobay enters the galleries from the bowl.
Tobay has arrived.

Amarie enters the galleries from the bowl.
Amarie has arrived.

Jaleran enters the galleries from the bowl.
Jaleran has arrived.

Claret carries both plate and klah in her hands, balancing them awkwardly. Veering towards a seat, she nearly trips over her feet as she looks toward the eggs and not where she's going. Managing quite well to spill a bit of klah in the process, she frowns at the mug and looks round at the other candidates. "I don't see any fire breathing," she observes.

Tobay has mostly finished off his roll by the time he reaches the gallery area, and he settles quickly into a (non-klah-covered) seat in the front close to the warm sands. "I don't either. We could be lucky. Looking at them without being threatened by fire." A moment of quiet, a few visible breaths, then, "It's so different after having walked among them. They seem, I don't know...more real now?"

"Well," Breena remarks, slowly making her way toward one of the benches at the front. "She can't, I don't think. And I'd be surprised if he'd had any 'stone, so..." She shrugs, smiles, and sits, carefully balancing her plate on her knees, setting her cup of juice on the bench next to her. "Poor both of them. They're both stuck out there, I bet she doesn't want him to leave, really."

Velano, too, is doing a two-handed job of carrying food and klah, but worse than Claret, he's trying to eat a bit, using the two fingers of the klah-mug hand that don't need to hang onto the mug to attempt to maneuver a tidbit of sweetbread into his mouth. This is successful, but the antic causes a splash of the watered beverage to hit the side of his face and dribble onto his shirt. "Aw," he grumbles, softly, and sets halt to eating long enough to walk among the benches toward the one Breena chose. He bends to stabilize his plate and mug there, then straightens to dry his cheek and the sparse curls at the side of his mouth on his sleeve. "Hope I get laundry tomorrow," he remarks with bitter cheer.

Amarie enters with Jaleran, one of her arms linked through his. She seems comfortable walking next to him. She climbs the stairs carefully and heads over to Velano, Breena and Tobay. "What are you guys talking about?" she has to ask, because she and Jaleran were late in coming to the caverns so missed part of the conversation.

Tobay looks out toward the eggs, motioning with his chin since his hands are full of klah and roll. "Them. And their parents being stuck here with them. What else?" He gets a sly look on his face, then adds in a singsong voice, "What were you two talking about?"

Claret makes her way to a seat in the front right near the others, managing to spill a little more klah as she goes. Grumbling at it, she takes another scalding gulp in an effort to decrease the likelihood of its reoccurrence, and settling her plate in her lap, she looks across the sands. "It is too bad that they've got to go," Claret agrees with Breena.

Jaleran keeps pace with Amarie, walking quietly with a peaceful expression. Tobay's taunt gets nothing but a straight-on look for a response, along with a flipant response of, "Decidingg what breed of insect to leave in your boots tonight."

"Laundry's better than latrines," Breena says to Velano, with a warm smile for him. Hearing Amarie's voice, she looks over her shoulder at the entering pair, brows lifted. "We were wondering where you'd gone." Her gaze flickers to Jaleran at the mention of bugs, wrinkles her nose, but she's quiet to chew thoughtfully, quietly on one of her meatrolls.

"I wouldn't guess so. If it's dull with the eggs, it'd be duller still without his company." Gazing out at the dragons in question, the butcher lowers his voice, to let the sleeping parents lie, restfully undisturbed. After a moment he pulls his attention, with effort, to sitting down near Breena, lifting his plate and klah into his lap. "Oh, I recommend leafhoppers," he murmurs, casually, to no one in particular.

"I thought about leaving a spinner in Tobay's pillow but then I remembered that I spoiled him rottenly with sweets even if he did repay me by throwing snow at me," Amarie teases. She smiles at them all but apparently the two are not about to tell what they were talking about.

"At least neither parent could've been hurt in the last 'Fall," Tobay comments. "It has to be better for both to have been safe here, though they weren't happy about it at the time." The Lemos baker's son pulls a kerchief from inside his coat, holds it gallantly out toward Claret. "Would you like a cloth? That stuff's hot." Jaleran gets a tight grin. "Sorry 'bout the snow. I'd like to request something mild, enough to get out of chores but make it so I can still Stand."

Breena polishes off that meatroll in short order, and takes a quick sip of juice, looking thoughtfully at the dam and sire on the hot sands. "Hm. Much as I hate to admit it, Gevra's probably right, sleep's not sounding like such a bad idea. I'm really sleepy all of a sudden." She gets to her feet, not all that long after sitting down, and smiles at the others. "Have a good night, everybody. Tobay, come talk to me tomorrow?" With that, she's off again.

Breena walks out into the bowl.
Breena has left.

Claret eyes the offered kerchief, and then the split klah. "Yes, please," she replies, shifting awkwardly and setting down her mug so that she can grab it. "It's -quite- hot. I suppose I ought not to give myself so many things to carry. Only causes trouble. I mean to say, I only cause trouble." Gazing curiously at the klah that splattered on the seat and the floor, she inquires, "I wonder who's got scrubbing duty in here next. Oh, goodnight Breena!" she breaks in, waving after her with her momentarily spare hand. "I bet they were the four of them just stewing about missing it. But it would have been dreadful if they'd gotten hurt."

"Good night," comes Velano's low well-wish to Breena. Then, louder, "I don't quite understand why everyone just /had/ to be there. One last chance to get scored -- " The butcher pauses, a bit of meat stabbed on a fork in his hand, to check presences, to look down the lenth of the benches, checking for someone who, it seems, is not there, as he continues. "I'm not so game to lose my life just to be a hero. I know it's what they feel they were made to do, but it /can't/ be what we were made to do. We'll never have the chance."

Tobay watches Claret's dabbing, gesturing to where there might be missed spots. "I think the klah likes to hop out of the cup, you know? Especially if it senses your hands are full. It's a jealous beverage." A nod to Breena, "Good night. I'll do that." He nods contemplatively to Velano. "Yeah, and terrible thing happened to some of them, too." A shake of his head, "It must've been a really heavy fall, for all of them to have been called in?"

Amarie blinks. "There was another fall?" She asks, looking confused. " I thought the one at Benden was supposed to be the last one! Where did the fall happen?" She mistakes what they said.

"I suggested importing a pair of trundlebugs." Jaleran's eyes dance with mischief. "The stink would be in your boots and would follow you around alllll day." He waves a goodnight to the exiting Breena. "They're talking about the one over Benden, Amarie." He finds a seat and settles down onto it, reveling in the heat of the hatching sands as he strips off his coat and gloves, setting them across the tier of seats behind him to act as a cushin as he leans back to relax.

"Or," Velano replies to Tobay, "A really glorious one. I heard I'sai when he came out of the sky with Taralyth, wounded. I -- " Heavy brows draw down, shading his eyes. "I'm not sure how he'll do, now. He'll teach us, if we Impress. He's -- they're a fighting pair. It's what they do." A beat. "What they did."

The butcher sighs after that emphasized change of tense and nods toward Amarie, lifting his mug for a sip. "Yes, Benden. I haven't heard of any others since."

Claret sighs ruefully, sending her mug a suspicious glance. "You know, there really are quite enough accidents waiting to happen without klah becoming vengeful. I shall have to worry constantly now, and it will be terribly distracting." Wiping at the spots she's missed, Claret turns her head toward Velano. "I expect there's something we don't know about, don't you think? Flying a Fall must be exciting. And don't all the weyrs often fly the first one together? First and last, like."

Tobay's usually sunny contenance sobers, darkens. "I hadn't thought much what it might be like for them, the kind of lifestyle change that they might have to face. I imagine it must be hard, mentally, for them." A smile is shared with Claret, "Yeah, it must be. Something compelling in the adrenaline, to fight the menace." A shudder. "I'm glad its over, for my part. Though the klah revolution has just begun."

Jaleran shrugs, "So switch to cider. It's never done me harm in nearly eighteen turns." He grins to Claret as he kicks his feet up, reclining completely with a blissful smile on his face as he starts warming up, then he catches more of the conversation details around him. "To never be threadscored..." his voice trails off and his expression darkens slightly as he remembers why he avoided clutches like crazy until arriving at Telgar.

"Not all people want to fight thread though," Amarie says sensibly. "Some just want to lock up the windows and doors and keep everyone inside until it is all over." She suddenly reels back as if an idea hit her. "Good grief.." She glances around. "Do you realize, all of us were born under a pass and now, we're living into the interval." She shakes her head, "So many didn't make it this far."

"I wouldn't know. There haven't been enough first 'falls in my life for me to have any idea. I suppose I should talk about last ones, either," Velano grins in reply to Claret. "All I know is what the harpers sing, and if they've been passing those lyrics on for generations -- well, purity and all, but." He shrugs, sips of klah, and rises from the bench. "I haven't seen any eggs shaking. Have you? I think I went too long waiting for dinner, and now I'm too tired to watch."

Tobay watches out eggward, but doesn't see any shifting of the sands either, and he gives a shake of his head to Velano's question. "Not a bad deal, eh Jaleran?" he nods, also agreeing with Amarie. "I've a pretty healthy fear of the stuff, myself. Even after seeing some of it burrowing--yech. Something to haunt the dreams, that's sure." His pastry gone, he rises. "Speaking of dreams, maybe it's time for me to go make some. Save the trundlebugs for 'Berta, huh?" With a wave, he grins. "Don't worry 'bout the kerchief, Claret. I'll catch it later for a laundry round. Night, all."

Claret rubs her nose regretfully before picking up her klah with great care. "I think that the very last thing I expected when I got out of bed this morning was that klah revolutions would begin today. I expect I had better keep my wits about me. Klah does have a certain charm, though, and I have a feeling if I forsook it for cider the harm would be that much more dastardly." Pausing thoughtfully, Claret notes, "If we'd all been born a bunch of turns earlier, we might not have made it through." Fingering the kerchief as Tobay rises, Claret nods, giving him a bright smile. "Thanks! I'll return it once it's been through this battle."

Amarie waves, "Good night Tobay." She nods at Claret. "I just think it is strange. We have known thread all our lives and now there will be none. And there are those who are older who know what it was like before thread fell who were lucky and skilled enough to survive fifty turns of it."

Jaleran nods vaguely to Amarie's statement. "Riders before us had the duty to destroy Thread. Those of us who become riders will have the duty to keep the traditions of dragonriders alive into the Interval so that when the next Pass comes those riders will be ready to do their duty." His last few words are quiet and a bit slurred as he starts to succumb to the heat and drop into a slight drowse.

"If we'd all been born Turns earlier, we might well have been butchers, or bakers, or daymark makers," Velano reports, lifting his klah mug in a salute to Claret's suggestion, "Our whole lives. And we might still. But we'll have stood, and seen, and it will be a new perspective. Maybe one of us will have the perspective that tells us -- riders or not -- what we're made to do, now that Threadfall is gone." A beat, and a frank look at Jaleran: "Other than do the physical, repetitive equivalent of act out those ballads. -- Good night, all of you. I should have followed Gevra's advice." An apologetic grin, and Velano moves toward the back of the rows of benches, making for the bowl.

Jaleran has disconnected.
Tobay has left.

Velano walks out into the bowl.
Velano has left.

Amarie looks at Jaleran dozing and says, "I'm going to stay here a little while to wake up sleeping beauty here," She smiles at Claret and waves to Tobay and Velano saying, "Good night."

Claret starts to reply to the general comments, but yawning herself, she just nods. "Maybe I should go to bed, too. I am getting awfully tired, and... I can probably take what I haven't finished back to the barracks with me." Rising, Claret stuffs the kerchief into her pocket and nods decisively. "Goodnight, Am. See you tomorrow!" And with that she trudges out of the galleries, sipping and spilling klah as she goes.

Amarie has disconnected.

Tales are spun, the Weyrleader kills some candidates, and so on

2006-08-02T23:36:10Z

Day 21, Month 2, Turn 50, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter night.

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Leeana Amarie Eugenian Pierron Claret
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

"Hi Leeana," Amarie smiles at the candidate plucking the harp. "This is my brother Eugenian." She introduces her brother. She reaches out for her glass of juice but accidentally knocks her fingers into the glass sending juice spilling all over the table and herself. "Oh shards!" She jumps up, grabbing the ball of yarn, the first thing is her worry. Nevermind her skirt is soaked. "Oh shells, I'm going to have to go change." She glances at Eugenian and says, "I'll be right back."

Eugenian jumps at the knocked over glass and gets up to get something to clean the table up, nodding to Amarie, "Go change. I'll clean this up." He nods his head politely to Leeana, though, offering, "Well met though." Finding a towel laying on another table, he uses it to mop up the juice quickly as it starts dripping off onto the floor with a light splattering.

Leeana jumps at the knocked over glass, too. She also grabs a towel nearby, sets down her harp, and rushes over. "Well met, Eugenian." She mops up some juice that dribbled onto the floor and some on the table. "Icky sticky mess...urgh." She smiles at Amarie. "It's supposed to go in your mouth, not on your clothes." She giggles to herself. Why she's so happy? I don't know...

Claret breezes into the cavern with her hands stuck haphazardly into her pockets. Her direction leads more or less toward the buffet table, but when she sees several people jumping up and splotching at something, she veers in that direction, curiosity settling in her features. "Hullo! Whatever have you all been doing?" she asks, her eyebrows quirking as she regards the scene with interest.

Eugenian tosses the soggy towel back onto the table where he found it and looks at his now sticky hands with a definite hint of distaste. Still, he ahs, "Accidents happen. She always was a clumsy thing." He glances towards Claret as she approaches, taking a moment to check his mental registry for recognition, and finding none, he offers a simple, "Just some spilled juice. No serious catastrophy or anything of the sort."

Leeana chuckles. "She doesn't seem clumsy to me. Accidents /do/ happen though." She examines her sticky hands, leaving the towel on the table. "Um...I'm going to run to the kitchen to wash my hands...I'll be right back." She shuffles into the kitchens, and moments later comes back with clean hands. "Hi Claret! How have you been?" She goes to get her harp.

Claret looks from the juice to the pair, an expression of vague puzzlement flitting across her features. "Well, of course accidents happen." Peering in the direction of Amarie's departure, she observes, "It looks a bit, um, icky." Rubbing her fingers together to demonstrate stickiness, she avoids offering any help of her own, instead giving Leeana a wave, giving a bright, "Good! How about you? And say..." Head swiveling toward Eugenian, she pins her curious gaze on him now. "Who're you? I'm Claret," she introduces, extending a hand.

Eugenian glances around for something clean to wipe his sticky hands on, and not finding anything readily available, he wipes one on the hairy over sweater he's wearing. The wooly hairs stick to his hand and he tugs it away with a disgusted grimace. Awkward, that. He tucks them behind his back, pride preventing him from following the other girl to wash up. When Claret offers a hand, he starts to reach to take it, then remembers when an uncertain chuckle, "Ah..sticky, you know? Oh, I'm Aldofan, of Crom Hold." And just like that, he starts a new lie. So simple, so easy, and without so much as batting an eyelash.

Leeana sighs. "I've got to finish bagging firestone. Bye!"

Leeana walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Leeana has left.

Claret keeps her hand extended for a moment before dropping it with a cheery smile. "Oh, yes! I didn't even think of that. That's all right, I could always go wash my hands; I daresay they need it. I've been bagging firestone just like--Oh! Evening Leeana!" Breaking off to wave after her, she resumes her breakneck speech. "Anyway, I was bagging firestone and I'm dreadfully dirty because I haven't bathed yet, but that's--Ooh, sorry, well met, Aldofan. I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you before, after all. Are you visiting, or something?"

Eugenian glances oh-so-casually in the direction Amarie left, as if making sure she's not come back already, and nods. "Mmm. Yes. Visiting. Visiting Amarie, that is. She's...well. We have a sort of connection." He glances at one of his hands again, watching his fingers stick together with an absent sort of fascination. He wonders, "Are you a candidate as well, then?"

"Yup!" Claret replies, sliding backward into a side. Folding her legs up under her, she follows the casual glance after Amarie. "But... She's not from Crom, right? She's from Beastcraft. Maybe you used to live there or something?" she suggests, but losing interest in the question of how they met, she shrugs. "Well, that's lovely, visiting and all."

Eugenian stands for a moment more, not showing the awkwardness he feels. After that moment, he returns to his previous chair with a nod. "She's my sister. Well. My foster sister." He glances towards the direction she went again, adding quickly, "But don't tell her I told you. She still gets a bit upset about it sometimes."

Claret scooches herself around a bit so she's facing Eugenian. "Really? Does she not like you? I think that's terribly odd, you coming to visit her if she doesn't even like you. Though that's presuming that you don't like her, too, isn't it? And maybe you do, but I still think that's odd." Apparently satisfied with this declaration, Claret gives a brisk nod. But quick on the heels of that thought is another, and she shoots Eugenian a puzzled glance. "Only... How can you be fostersibs if you don't live in the same place?"

Eugenian shakes his head, "Oh, no, it's not that at all. She likes me. And my family very much. That's why she doesn't like to talk about it. She just wishes she were my real sister. And I don't live at Crom. I live with my mother and her husband at the Beastcraft, same as Amarie did before. But my father is the heir of Crom Hold, so I consider myself to be affiliated with them." Because he looks soooo much like an heir of anything, in his hairy sweater and double hand-me-downs. Little liar.

Now enlightened, Claret nods sagely, her chin dipping a few too many times as she continues. "I see. That must mean you're -terribly- important, mustn't it? Well, you don't look awfully important, but I don't suppose all the important people I've ever met really -looked- important, so it just goes to show. Except..." Wrinkling her nose at a few of the inconsistencies in Eugenian's background, she shrugs. Must be her. "Well. That's too bad, that you can't be real siblings, I mean. She does have an awful lot all her own, though, doesn't she?"

Eugenian readily supplies, "I don't like to look important when I'm around Amarie. It makes her horribly depressed. And that just breaks my heart. I can't bear to see her sad. So that's why the charade." He steeples his fingers together, slightly perturbed when they stick. He ers. "Ah, and yes, she does have an awful lot. She's an amazing girl. Shame about her real family, though."

Claret takes to nodding again. "That's -awfully- considerate of you, to dress a different way just for Amarie. You must get along ever so well, mustn't you? To be so sad because she is. That's too bad. Say, maybe you want to wash your hands?" Claret suggests, observing their sticking tendencies. "You wouldn't want them to stay stuck or anything." Shaking her head with a woeful expression, she continues. "That would be dreadful. Real family?"

Eugenian draws in a breath, nodding his agreement as he stows his hands under the table for the moment. He seems to enjoy telling stories as his eyes sort of gleam as he gets into the tale, "Oh yes. Her real family. They were breeders down near Keroon. Had their own cothold. But then one month, there was a bad Threadfall over their area. Killed all their beasts. They thought they'd manage, and they seemed to be getting back on track, but then they were attacked on their way back from the main hold by wild felines." As if wild felines roamed around Keroon in the first place. He shakes his head, "Terribly sad. She was the only one who survived. She still has the scars, though. My mother cared for her until she was better. We thought for awhile she wasn't even going to make it."

Claret's eyes widen as she drinks up the tale. "Wild felines? Killed her whole family? Why, that's awful. I wonder why she never mentioned it before? It would make a terribly fascinating tale, and she does like things like pirates." Fidgeting, Claret frowns over this for a minute before piping in, "Funny, I never saw the scars. I guess they're hidden, even when you're swimming. How come... If her parents are dead, and your parents fostered her, she's got a whole 'nother family too?"

Eugenian considers it and confesses, "I suppose the scars could have faded away by now. I haven't exactly gone looking for them. I just assume she still has them." He tilts his head thoughtfully, mumbling to himself, "I'll have to ask her about them...and wait, what other family?"

Lanisa walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Lanisa has arrived.

Claret sits next to Eugenian, settling her feet more securely under her, giving great consideration to the process. "Yes..." she draws out. "That makes sense." Looking up in faint surprise, she explains, "You know! The one with about twelve siblings, or something like that? That isn't your family, is it?"

Eugenian ohs, and nods his head, "No, that's mine. My mother and her husband are very generous." He pauses and clarifies, "My mother isn't married to /my/ father. And there are thirteen in total, but they aren't all related by blood. Most of them are fostered. Can you imagine a woman having thirteen children naturally? She would need a long, long vacation after such a thing."

Lanisa makes her way back in, looking much more relaxed than she has in days as she takes a path to the serving table to acquire a plate, a meal, dessert and klah in short order. All of these get placed on a tray, rather than trying to balance to carry them as heads for a seat near Claret.

Claret blinks a few times before resorting to nods again. "Well, yes, that is a lot of children. But I've heard of it happening before, and without a vacation afterward, too. I'm not sure a vacation would help, though, d'you think? Of course, it's maybe better not to have all that many children in the first place, though--Oh, evening Lani!" Spotting Lanisa, Claret gives her a wave.

After what seems a particularly long time, Amarie comes back into the cavern wearing a new outfit. Her other outfit, the one that got soaked in juice has been replaced by a white shirt and maroon skirt. She's fussing with the waistline of the skirt as she walks into the cavern.

Tobay walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Tobay has arrived.

Eugenian nods to Lanisa as she returns, agreeing with Claret, "That was my thought, anyhow. Best to not have so many." And then he spots Amarie and he stands rather suddenly, "I think I'll see to washing my hands now. If you'll excuse me..." And he heads quickly into the kitchens.

Lanisa refrains from waving, since her hands are rather full, but she does give a bright smile, "Claret! Hey there." Vast difference from just a bit before as she slides into a seat, "Heya, Eugenian. Glad to see your still here. Sorry I ran off. Where's Am?" Since she doesn't see the other girl returning yet.

Claret looks after Eugenian as he hurries off. "Um..." she begins, before her attention is drawn by Lani's greeting. Merely sending a wave after him, she turns herself around again in her chair so that she's facing Lani. "You look -much- happier than you did before. Did you find your father, or something?"

Amarie wanders Pierron's way first and picks out a plate of food. She picks a healthy balance of vegetables and meat before walking back over to Lanisa and Claret. Sliding into her seat from before she picks up a piece of meat and says, "Hi Lanisa. How'd everything go with your Dad?" She hasn't noticed Eugenian missing yet.

Tobay comes from the kitchen, shooing a firelizard flitting about a tray precariously loaded with cups, plates, bowls, and eating utensils. "No food here. No food. C'mon, shoo. Go for Pierron, he's a sucker--ack." Said lizard darts right across his line of sight, and he wobbles, just avoiding Eugenian and others who fill plates and travel the area as he sways the tray. "Sorry, sorry, coming through."

Lanisa lofts a brow as Eugenian starts off, "Was it something I said?" She asks of Claret, but she dismisses that in no time, "He's back." Then a smile added for Amarie, "He's going to be fine. He's cold from the trip, still sore and fighting with the healers already."

Claret shakes her head, giving Amarie a little wave of greeting. "No, I don't think so. He was perfectly happy telling me all about his family, and Amarie's family, and then he just up and left! Oh, wait." She pauses for a moment, amending her statement. "He had sticky hands. He decided to wash them. That's brilliant, though, that your da's back. And Tear, he's fine too?"

"Isn't he great?" Amarie says smiling in the direction Eugenian went. Looking at both Lanisa and Claret she says, "I'm so glad Eugenian is here." She digs into her food, stuffing her mouth with bites of a breaded meat. She waves over at Tobay as the portly boy comes into the cavern.

Eugenian ventures back out of the kitchens, minus his hairy sweater and his hair all mused, as if he'd washed his hands then ruffled them still wet through his hair. He carries a fresh mug of klah with him, happily steaming between his two hands. He doesn't return to his seat, though, venturing towards the hearth instead.

Tobay reaches the table, successful at setting the tray down without losing the contents. A pile of plates slides sideways, though he catches it before more than one or two clatter on the table. Straightening the items, he separates the utensils into their containers, scans the area, and smiles at the familar faces of the Candidates and Amarie's brother, waving a spoon before putting it away.

Velano walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Velano has arrived.

"They are both still healing. Da's leg, Tear's neck. That was part of why he took so long. Straps broke and he had to fix them so they didn't bother Tear coming home." Lani too, digs into her dinner, pausing only to smile and wave brightly back to Tobay as she asks Amarie, "Is he staying through the hatching?"

Claret eyes Amarie with consideration as she reseats herself. "He seems very nice. He told me a rather ghastly story about your family. That's really dreadful, I -am- sorry. Not quite noticing Tobay, or Lani's wave to him as she scoots herself around in her seat again so she'll be able to see everybody, she gives Lani a bright smile. "That's good. You must be awfully happy to see them back."

Fresh-scrubbedness makes Velano's face a little red -- not his well-familiar flush, but a true raw-rubbed red of deeply cleaned skin. A short, ragged hand towel ruffles over his hair, absorbing dampness from the newly-cleaned stuff, while he weaves between tables toward the serving area. "One herdbeast, side of wherry, hold the gravy," he rumbles as he passes Pierron, though his demanding stomach seems content to let him await a place in line behind a scowly-looking greenrider.

"Yes he is," Amarie nods at Lanisa's question. "He said -- what?" Amarie blinks at Claret looking quite confused. "He told you what?" She doesn't look as if she understands what Claret is talking about.

Eugenian paces back and forth in front of the hearth, sipping his klah as his gaze darts towards the group of candidates constantly. He listens hard to catch any snippets of their conversation that he can. He must realize that his days are numbered, but he certainly doesn't show it. Well, except for the pacing, of course. If one were to interpret it as an act of anxiety.

Tobay finishes arranging the eating utensils, then transfers cups from the tray to the table, setting them drink-edge down so they stay clean. "You've fresh klah, Eu--genian?," he calls hearthward, recognizing the boy. "Would you like something to eat? There are plates again; there was a bit of a backup getting them clean." He passes a pile over to Pierron so he can begin filling orders, Velano's included.

"It's great. You know, to know rather than have to listen to ten versions from ten different people." Lani confirms with an ever present grin, "Well that's great." She tells Amarie before adding, "I didn't hear." So she glances back to Claret for the tale while she eats.

"About your parents!" Claret clarifies quickly. "And how they got killed by felines when you were a baby," she expands, showing the first stirrings of tact by lowering her voice somewhat. "I'm -dreadfully- sorry, anyway. Even if you can't remember, I bet it's really sad." Turning her head to look for Eugenian as a confirmation, she doesn't manage to spot him, but eyes glancing off of Tobay and Velano, she gives each a wave.

Amarie's mouth drops open. "He told you /WHAT/?" Her voice raises in pitch and tone. She glances around for her brother and spots him by the fire. Her face turns red, brows drawing together. "Did he also tell you his name was Franz Claret?" she happens to ask the girl, but she's talking through her teeth sort of.

"Thanks," the butcher tells Pierron, grinning at the plate obligingly loaded high with a small mountain of meats. To it he adds a small serving of stringed winterbeans and passes on to the end of the table before realizing, and turning to make note of, Tobay's presence. "Dishes, huh? Well, you're at your best in the kitchen," he flatter-teases, then turns toward the tables to contemplate a place to settle. Amarie's outburst identifies such a place, and toward her he moves.

Eugenian pauses at his name, his gaze searching out the source. He finds Tobay, and matches boy with his previous introduction to him in his head before he shakes his head, "Fresh klah, yes. But no, I'm not so very hungry. Thank you, though." Today must be a polite day, or maybe he feels it'll help his case in the end. But then he hears Amarie, and he cringes slightly. He looks towards the door, then towards Amarie. Back and forth a few times, he considers the odds.

Tobay moves around the master chef's table, adding a hefty pile of plates to the stack. "Here you go. They're going fast." Like that little dish of imported fruit, a few bits of which make their way onto a smaller plate with a little help from Tobay. A shrug of acceptance to Eugenian, "suit yourself, but you can hide behidn the evergreen branches," then a wink to Velano, "Restocking," and a grin for the other candidates, though he winces as Amarie shrieks.

Lanisa barely covers her laugh, "Is that what he told you?" She asks of Claret, and then, "Sorry Am, but it's funny." She would think so.

Claret regards Amarie with great concern. "It doesn't still upset you terribly, does it? I mean, I think you're over-reacting. Wait, were you talking about him?" she asks, pointing toward the hearth where Amarie's baleful gaze was directed. "Or... Eugini..Euginin? Maybe that's the problem?" Drawing her brows together in an effort to think, she recalls, "He said his name is... Aldofan? Something like that. Yes, I think that was it. And he told me about it."

"Evening," Velano announces to those at the table, but instead of seating himself he pauses, a hand on the back of a chair, the other sturdy beneath the laden plate. "Amarie's brother?" Generous brows furrow, shading dark eyes, but the young man's mouth forms a faint grin. "Every story I hear about him is one more for the record hides," he remarks, blissfully unaware of the presence of the child in question.

"Yes him." Amarie nods. "His name is Eugenian, not Aldofan. He is my brother and whatever he told you is likely not a bit of it true." She stands up and says, "Excuse me." Her plate is abandoned as she makes a vtol line right at Eugenian. Someone's getting it.

Kaetan walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Kaetan has arrived.

Eugenian takes Tobay's advice, leaving his mug on a table and stows himself behind some of the evergreens. Comical really, his big boots sticking out from underneath and his lanky frame barely even concealed. But the important part is that it covers his face. She won't know it's him, right? As in all things, there is a shard of hope.

Tobay has emptied the tray with which he arrived, and he makes another round to the kitchen, returning with the tray laden. A wink is tossed Eugenian's way as he passes some of the more full boughs, though he gives no other sign to betray the youth's presence, moving along toward the tables intently.

K'ran walks in from the bowl.
K'ran has arrived.

Pierron eyes the Weyrleader suspiciously for a moment before grunting a greeting.

Lanisa's content enough to just sit there quietly eating as she enjoys the evening's entertainment. As in, Amarie and her brother. Dinner, and a show.

Claret blinks at Amarie in puzzlement. "Well I..." she trails off as Am gets up, blinking again. "Are you quite sure?" she calls after her. Lowering her voice confidingly, she addresses a comment to the candidates sitting near. "He -said- his name was Aldofan, and honestly, I can't think why anybody would want to make up a name, after all. Or such a ghastly story."

Dressed in work clothes and bearing a length of riding straps coiled over one shoulder, K'ran trudges into the living cavern and makes his way directly for Starblaze Wing's table, where he might unlimber his burden. He'll mark Pierron's predictable grunt of greeting with a blown kiss followed by a cheerful smile, then rake fingers back through his hair and cast his gaze past the group of candidates, and on toward the serving tables. "G'd'eve," he offers, generally. "Who's telling ghastly stories? Was it *good*-ghastly, or gross-ghastly?"

Amarie stands in front of the evergreen that Eugenian has taken refuge at. "I see your big clunky boots Eugenian," Amarie crosses her arm, one foot tapping impatiently. "You better come on out. Which story was it this time? The one where I followed you to Beastcraft and Mum and Dad adopted me?" Then she spits out another, "The one where you're the Bitran Lord Holder's secret heir?" And another follows, "She said felines. Is this the story you tried to tell Aud about her family being killed by felines and we adopted her? Or is it the one where Mum was going to be a Master Harper but decided to adopt all of us instead? Which one is it Eug?" She could list more and more stories apparently by the look on her face, but she stops with the last one, her tone annoyed.

Kaetan steps into the room and looks around. He waves with a smile and walks over to the candidate table. "Good evening everyone." He looks for an empty seat and sits himself down. He leans over to Lanisa as he keeps his eyes on Amarie, "Whats going on?"

"Maybe it was the one where he braved a pack of felines in front of the... Weyrleader," Velano offers, lamely, though particular emphasis on that last word is accompanied by a glance at the evergreen and the candidate apparently talking to it as well as a significant look at K'ran, which turns the finish of his sentence almost into a greeting. The butcher grins even more lamely than he spoke, then thinks to put his plate down on the table's surface.

Eugenian fidgets with the pricklies on the evergreen boughs, not coming out from behind them. Rather, he replies from there, "Does it matter? Shells, its your fault! You left me alone. You know I can't help myself...I just started talking is all. I was just talking! You shouldn't have left me to talk." Yes, that'll get him far. Try to turn it back on her. Great plan. Good thinking. He's obviously a mastermind of getting himself out of trouble. Or not.

Tobay steps around to the service side of the tables, balancing the tray over the table's edge and against his knee while he unloads replacement platters of fresh and steaming tubers, raising the older dish and emptying it over the top of the fresh ones to blend in with them. "G'd'eve, Weyrleader," Tobay responds softly, a smile curving his face at the easy discovery of Eugenian.

"Braving a pack of felines in front of the Weyrleader," echoes K'ran, musing, marvelling. After a moment he scoops up a table knife and, holding it by the blade, stands up on a chair and brandishes the utensil vaguely Velano-wards. "Have at you, then, you... pack of felines!" he calls, with appropriate dramatic emphasis -- and then stage-whispers, "Mew, now, hm? It'll look better."

Claret watches Amarie and talking evergreen with great puzzlement, comprehension slow to dawn. "Well." That word being her definitive answer to her confusion, she repeats it. "Well. Aldo..Eugenian was telling stories," she clarifies with a nod toward the weyrleader, accompanied by an odd look. "He said, Am, that your whole family got killed by felines when you were little, and you just barely lived and got nursed to health by his mother, who -isn't- married to his father who is the heir to Crom, and that it depresses you terribly that he's not your real brother. Say! Does that mean he is your real brother? Well, that's good." Not that Amarie looks particularly happy about it now.

Lanisa answers Kaetan with a grin, "Heya. Amarie's brother's been making stuff for our entertainment." Lani's spin, but then she's busy watching it all.

The first syllable out of Velano is not even remotely catlike. "Ach!" Dismayed at the display of a blade, however harmless a one, from the Weyrleader, he bounces back a stumbling half-step on his heels before realizing he's being directed, sotto-voce, and a grin releases the tension on his face. "Oh," he breathes, then coughs a preparation and exclaims, "Maiow, mew meeww!" Warming to his role, he feigns nastiness, clawing at the air and embellishing with a raspy, "Rawr!"

Kaetan moves away a little and nods, "Oh. Well I guess this will be interesting to watch then. I might enjoy a family spat. It will remind me of home." He grins at the girl and turns his attention back to Amarie.

She may be providing the best sort of gossip Roberta would love to talk about, but Amarie doesn't seem to care. "You're right!" She frowns at Eugenian. "I /CAN'T/ leave you alone for even five minutes with anyone normal because you start in lying to them! When are you going to grow up Eugenian? Do you know when I tell people you make up stories to see if people believe them, they think you're five turns old?" She throws her hands up in exasperation, "That's my brother! Sixteen going on Six!"

Tobay's green eyes widen as the Weyrleader hops up on a chair and brandishes a serving knife, and he gives into his first impulse, which is to duck behind the table and gawk. Then Amarie's shouts join in and he crawls, on hands and knees, under the table. "Has he feline fever?" he whispers, peeking out from the front side of the table, its drapey cloth making an Old Auntie of him. Whiteface and looking mostly at the Weyrleader's back. Then, to appease, he adds, across the break in his voice, "Mew?"

Eugenian side steps out from behind the greenery with all the dignity of a lord holder, chin lifted level, "That's seventeen going on six, thank you very much. And I don't know what you're yelling about. You like to tell stories, I like to tell stories." Except she tells stories like stories, and he tells stories as if they were fact. "But.." He straightens his tunic, brushing away imaginary dust, "I can see you aren't in the mood, so I'll excuse myself. I have some place to be, anyhow." And leave her to clean up the lies, as usual.

K'ran attempts to rock forward on the chair in a marginal display of derring-do, still waving the wrong end of the knife as if it's the very dagger F'lar used to kill Lord Fax. Yet for all this he ends up unbalanced and wobbling. "Villain!" he says. "Rascal! Beast! Varmint!" As Tobay gets into the spirit of things, then, he amends, "Och, the both of you! The *herd* of you! I'll have Pierron bake you into a pie--" And it's about then that he loses balance altogether: chair goes one way, he the other, and he ends up flat on his back on the floor, laughing.

Lanisa starts giggling as she shifts from watching first Amarie and Eugenian and then the Weyrleader with his serving knife against the 'felines'. Kaetan gets a glance as she nods, "Certainly worth the viewing, wouldn't you say?" Course, she's made short work of her dinner through it all, and now she nibbles a cookie.

"Eugenian!" Amarie stamps her foot. "You have got to stop this once and for all before your lies land you in more hot water than I can get you out of. Or even Mum or Dad!" She tries to threaten him although he's probably heard this all before.

Forgetting about Eugenian and Amarie with the mewlings and the wobbling and crashing going on nearby, Claret trains an assessing glance on the felines and their victim--or attacker. "There must be something in the food," she concludes in a regretful tone. "That inclines weyrfolk to madness." Tucking her hands under her chin, though, she watches with more than a little interest.

Velano is suppressing laughter by the time the Weyrleader gets to the crowning insult, 'varmint,' and the suppression begins to fail somewhere around pie-baking threats. Such it is that he's outright cackling when K'ran hits the floor. The sound of that spill seems the final note in the butcher's rich chortles, however, his eyes widening with hesitating horror. "Weyrleader," he breathes, then, louder, "Oh, sir, I'm so sorry. Uh. May I help you up?" He puts a step forward, his smile recovering at the continued laughing from the bronzerider, and bends slightly, a wary hand put out. "Mew?"

Eugenian makes a bored gesture, a casual flick of his wrist, as he looks around Amarie towards the man falling from the chair. He shakes his head, gaze darkened when it returns to the stamping girl, "And you think I'm the crazy one...Go back to your table, chat with your friends, eat your dinner. I'm late." Late for running away? Probably so. Shoulders hunched slightly, he skulks back a few steps and moves out of the cavern with a quick step.

Kaetan nods and smiles. "Most definately. I forgot what this was like. Its been a while."

Eugenian walks towards the inner cavern.
Eugenian has left.

K'ran's still laughing, from the floor, which is likely a reassuring sign -- one confirmed when, good-natured, he waves Velano's offer of help off and, slowly, gets back to his feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he chortles. "And having been *defeated* by the fierce Velano- and Tobay-kittens, it just wouldn't be *right* for me to take help. Wait, he *left*? Oh, jays, Amarie. Bring him back. I want to hear more about this rampaging herd of felines." But he fastens his grin on Claret. "It's not madness, sweet. I promise."

Tobay watches with awe, his little croaked mewl growing in volume and ending up in a shout of worry as the man goes down on his back. "Ouch--oh. Victory for the felines!" He crawls his way out from under the table, laughing, pleased as the man regains his footing. "Eugenian left? Aw. He didn't even take his klah!" He smiles toward Claret, nodding agreement, mouthing, 'crazy.' Then, musingly, "I wouldn't mind so much being baked into a really big pie. I could eat my way out."

Amarie goes back to the table and drops her head into her hands. She glances at the Weyrleader and says, "If you want his stories, go ask him." She looks tired, almost like she'd been doing that too long. "Tell me you don't believe him Claret. He's always doing that. Making up stories, telling people he's someone else."

Kaetan stands and waves to the others. "I've got to deliver something. I'll be back in a little bit."

Velano, useless for helping up sprawled Weyrleaders, grins at his victory and sidesteps to share - more quietly - triumph with his holdmate and get out of K'ran's possible way. "At the moment," he murmurs, "Even I could eat my way out." A pleasantly longing glance at his high-piled plate a few steps away on the table, but for now the butcher holds place and shakes his head sympathetically at Amarie.

Claret looks doubtful as to whether the little episode was a clear portrayal of sanity or not. "Well... I suppose nobody's -too- mad," she concedes. "But all the same--Oh, he left? That's too bad, I think the whole thing's still a muddle." Sending a grin to Tobay for his agreement, Claret shrugs lackadaisically toward Amarie. "Well, you know, I did believe him. It was a very interesting story, after all. But if you say it's not true, and other people say so too, then I suppose it was just a story. That's just too bad!" she finishes, heaving a sigh.

Kaetan has disconnected.

K'ran retrieves the chair he'd sent skittering over toward Duskfire's table, with laughing apologies to the riders there who offer a few good-natured jeers: evidently moods are improved throughout the Weyr, with the threat of Fall having receded. He returns to turn the chair around and sit in it backwards, with his arms propped up on its back. "Has he always been one to make things up, Amarie? I bet he'd make a fine Harper, with that imagination." Tobay and Velano, well, they simply get encouraged to their plates. "Eat, eat, for crying out loud. Don't stand on ceremony on my account; I've been stitching crooked seams all day, hardly very Weyrleader-y. What other stories did he have, Claret? Did you hear any of them, Lanisa? Oh, and, um--" Lower-toned, he wonders of her, "Did your da get my note, do you know?"

"I was just -- " Velano pauses to really take in what K'ran has said, then puts his elbow neatly into Tobay's in a gentle nudge before bolting toward his plate, choosing the side of the Weyrleader that prevents visual interruption of the line between the rider and Lanisa. "Well, I suppose it could be getting cold." The plate is drawn across the table's surface and into his hands. Picking barehanded a small strip of herdbeast from it, he trods back toward Starblaze's table, hovering around the periphery.

Lanisa gets caught, dipping her cookie in her klah when K'ran asks her and she gives a little grin, "I came in just after he finished telling the tale. So I only got the chance to hear it now. Quite amusing though." Then she flushes for the second question, hinting it's not so straightforward as she delivers when she answers, "Caught up with him before he saw it, actually. But he knows of it, if he's not read it yet. We had a good chat though."

Tobay finally raises himself off the cavern floor, dusting his pants off as he rises, then giving them a tug to pull them back firmly onto his waist. "Invite from the Weyrleader to take time off duty!" He announces this in a celebratory tone, turning to the table to add a few roasted meat and hard rolls to his plate of scoped-out import fruit. "Now Claret," he chastises, waving a roll at her, "we should be glad Amarie's parents are well. Even if /he/ is inventive. --Sewing? What were you sewing, sir?" Taking the given advice, he chomps down on a second roll soundly.

"You don't know him like I do," Amarie sighs again but reaches out to take her drink. To Lanisa she says, "I'm glad your Dad is alright. Did you get a chance to think about what we talked about before?" she asks. "You know.. about the thing?" She hints around. "I've got a good idea."

Claret tilts her head back and forth in an ambivalent response. "Well, I don't believe there were any more stories, though it was a bit more detailed than that. Dressing shabbily so as not to remind Amarie he was a Lord's son and break her heart because she wasn't his real sister, and lots of adopted fostersibs and so on. Nothing terribly dramatic, except her whole family dying." Turning rather unrepentantly to Tobay, Claret considers his comment duly. "Well... Maybe. I'm very glad Amarie's parents are alive, of course, but it sounded like she was very happy with her foster family, you know? And couldn't even remember when it happened, though I'm sure it was very sad. Or would have been if it happened," she corrects. "He -is- very clever."

K'ran tips a nod over at the coil of riding straps that lie forlornly upon the table behind him. "Straps get worn down with use -- they'll fray, just from wear, but sometimes due to ash-burns or whatever. So repairing the sharding things is an ongoing chore. Just one problem: I have *never*, not in seventeen Turns as a rider, been able to stitch a straight seam. My straps look like a reject from Weavercraft tried to sew them while drunk and blindfolded. And standing on a boat out at sea. In the middle of a storm." And, for good measure, "While being eaten alive by a mad pack of felines. Was he *convincing*, Claret? I mean, did he shed any tears about the loss of his folks? I did, a little, Lanisa -- just not sure, yet. And, sure, Velano. Have all the free time you like!" He pauses for effect, and then affects a cheshire smile. "Until tomorrow morning, when the new duty roster gets posted."

"Figures," the dark-eyed Lemos youth retorts, tacking on, "sir," a bit belatedly and through a grin. "Oh! Tobay! Amarie." From one candidate to the other Velano's gaze flicks, his grin faltering under the weight of sudden recollection. "You'll appreciate this. You know the day after the fall? We had a rest day? I was posted for -- you'll never guess!"

Tobay nods, arriving at the table, near Claret, with his plate. "He's a practiced deceiver," he agrees. "I bet he could sell a herder dragon-riding straps, for all the good it would do him, you know?" A few more bites of his roll, and he slides sideways into a seat, using his bulk to force it back from the table enough to fit. Eyes widen as the sewing-tale gets more exaggerated, and he just about breathes a hunk of roll, snorting in laughter. "Infufwy?" he posits, the word barely coherent.

"Thanks Am, me too." Then Lani pauses and gives a nod, "Yeah, I think I can manage what you asked of me before, but what? You have something more?" She gives a grin then to K'ran before Velano's question for the others draws her attention.

Amarie nods at Lanisa but since there's so many people around, she doesn't go into detail any further. "What? Where did you get posted Velano?" Amarie grins at Velano, the tension caused by her brother starting to melt away.

Claret considers K'ran's question, looking mildly surprised, as though it hadn't occurred to her -not- to believe him, no matter how convincing or unconvincing. "I think, actually, that he was convincing. There were some things that didn't make sense, of course, but I thought I was just getting myself muddled, and in the end the story seemed to work out very nicely. Are you choking, Tobay?" Turning her attention to the snorts at hand, she wrinkles her nose. "That would be unfortunate, because I suspect it might make you ill."

K'ran levels a finger across the table at Tobay, and warns in faux-stern tones, "No power-puking half-eaten meatroll at your Weyrleader," despite the risk that this may provoke precisely that. "Probably, Amarie, he's looking for some attention? And thinks telling these elaborate fibs is a good way to get it? I dunno; maybe he could just use some friends who he doesn't *need* to lie to. Huh, Claret. Huh. I think I'll have to find a reason to get him to tell *me* a tall tale, just to see. What'd you get posted to do on your day off, now, Velano?"

"No, no," Velano denies Tobay's muffled suggestion, his own dinner waiting between bites for him to answer his peers. Shaking his head, he adds, "Though it would figure. Considering that 'fall -- I think Sarai and the whole thing just about jolted out of me any trouble I'll have with the infirmary again. Except maybe for little kids with skinned knees," he admits with an open-palmed gesture of self-effacement. "No. It was more priceless than that. I was posted for dragon-washing," he beams. "I think it's a sign." This announcement made he tears into the herdbeast, using eating to stifle impatient snickering at his own horrible, terrible, dramatically important misfortune.

Lanisa speaks up then to simply ask, "You still not had it yet, Velano?" Then after a moments consideration, "If you really want, I'll swap you next time I have it, if you don't get it again first. Not like I haven't been able to do so plenty of times before."

Tobay nods, batting at his chest with the fist of one hand while he coughs. "Think I'm okay," he hoarsely manages, "Sorry 'bout that." He half-rises, leaning forward in the chair, and takes hold of a pitcher and a cup set in the table's center, then pours himself a cup of water, which is partaken of eagerly. Alas, it is just water that the surprised Lemos youth fountains across the table, his eyes wide in an expression of laughter turned to horror.

"I think he has had it," Amarie says to Lanisa and grins at Velano saying, "Told you you'd get to wash dragons one of these days. And now that you've done it what do you think of it?" she asks the butcher.

Claret eyes Tobay cautiously as he spits water out across the table. "You haven't taken ill, have you?" she inquires with care. "It's well that you're not choking, at least. That would have been a nuisance. If you'd died or something, that is. D'you know, sir," she directs toward the Weyrleader. "I think all you have to do is ask his name, and maybe where he's from--when Amarie isn't there--and then maybe he'll spin a tale? That's all I did. Asked who he was. It was very easy." Finally distracted by the talk of washing dragons, she suggests to Velano, "You could offer to wash dragons outside of chores, if you want. I bet a bunch of riders would take you up on that."

K'ran, as one who experienced the grime of the Fall on a very up-close and personal level, can't quite supress a snicker. "Wonderful. Did you keep track of how many dragonlengths of hide you scrubbed, Velano?" He'll hold up a hand in a valiant but ultimately futile effort to fend off the shower courteously provided by Tobay, though being sprinkled doesn't seem to ruin his mood. "You guys like dragon-washing duty, Lanisa, Amarie? How about you, Claret? I think my favorite was breaking and sacking firestone. I just always had to scrub real thorough afterwards; the dust gets into places you didn't realize you could *get* dust." At Claret's suggestion, he's nodding quickly. "I know I would."

"I didn't! That's just it," Velano grins at Amarie. "Rest day. No duties. I hoped the list would hold for the next day, but noooo," he woes, eyes rolling upward in mock indignation, "a new one was posted, predictable as the sun. Carrying stores. I think I've done that about eighty times." He tosses a grin toward Lanisa, adding before turning attention back to his meal, "Oh, I appreciate that. Thank you. But no -- I'll get it the hard way, or not. Someone said if I Impress, I'll learn if I like it or not, or -- " A sidelong glance at Claret, whose suggestion he acknowledges with, "Volunteer. I'm working up the gumption for that." A decisive nod.

"Well those of us that went to the Fall were excused from chores that day. So I assumed he didn't." Lani counters with a shrug, then nods to K'ran, "Aye. Always have like dragon washing. Even when they decide to dunk me." But for Velano she grins, "Well, if that's the way you want it, alright. But let me know if you change your mind, eh?"

Amarie chuckles at Velano and says, "That's ironic. Very ironic. Your only rest day and you get dragonwashing duties." She giggles at that and shakes her head at Claret. "Washing one dragon is not at all like washing five of them in one day."

Tobay's round apple cheeks are a deep shade of scarlet, and he sheepishly passes a cloth napkin, pressing it against the water-warding hand of the Weyrleader. "Oops," he glibly covers. "Ah, sorry 'bout that." To Velano, he notes, "Yselle's eager for help, with the new baby. Oh! And weyrwoman Gaycia's accepted help a few times with Miss Liabeth--" He nods to Claret and Lanisa, agreeing, "you just have to hold out a brush, and riders flock. Or you can just take my route, and wash the Weyrleader instead."

Claret points a finger suggestively at K'ran, noting for Velano's benefit, "Well, he just said he'd take someone up on that. So there you go. And Tobay'n me volunteered a few sevendays ago, or maybe more than a month, I don't remember, to wash Liabeth, and Gay was awfully happy about it. Me, I think washing dragons is all right. I like it sometimes, but not all." Awarding Tobay a perplexed look at his last comment, she repeats his words. "Wash the... Oh! That too."

K'ran nods amicably at Velano, agreement first with Tobay and next with Claret. "Either works," he says. "But, seriously. I'd appreciate the help. He's big -- not so broad-framed as other bronzes, but very long-bodied, and the wingsails just go on forever. There's a lot that needs washing and oiling. I tell you all, it's a relief when they finally stop growing. Until then, you feel like you're washing and oiling them pretty much constantly."

Jaleran walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Jaleran has arrived.

The point at the Weyrleader widens Velano's eyes, and he shakes his head once, furtively and with some amount of panic, as he follows Claret's indication of K'ran along its trajectory. He swallows his current bite and settles the rest of the meat he'd been making short work of back onto his plate, subtly napkining a hand on his trousers. "Ah," he begins, "I bet it is. A relief. Er. Well, if you'd be interested, sir, I'm willing." This admitted, he seems frozen, unwilling to sit down or shift his weight or do anything with the plate but hold it in whitening hand.

Amarie pushes away her half eaten dinner. She stands to her feet and says, "I'm going to go find Eugenian." She gives a nod to those present and then heads out towards the way Eugenian went.

K'ran's not one to prolong a candidate's discomfort: he favors Velano with a pleasant smile, and then rises from his seat to scoop the coil of riding straps back up onto his shoulder. "But not tonight. You come to me, alright? I'm going to take these, put them away, and -- hey there, Jaleran -- head home. Not that you're all not wonderful company, or anything, but..."

Lanisa gives a small yawn and then slides to her feet behind Amarie, "I think I'm going to turn in early myself. Night everyone."

Tobay uses another napkin to blot any errant dribbles of water from his own face, eyeing the water cup mistrustfully. "He's got a point. That's one big dragon." With a cheerful grin at not being given diaper-washing duty for the accidental shower-providing, he sits back in his chair. "We had fun helping with Miss Liabeth. And Claret showed she does more than help warm seats to be washed. Not that there was any doubt." A wink at her, then a nod to the 'leader. "Have a good night, sir. And watch out for felines."

Amarie walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Amarie has left.

Lanisa walks towards the inner cavern.
Lanisa has left.

"Good night, both of you," Velano calls after the leaving girls, then repeats it somewhat to the weyrleader. "And you, sir. I'll come find you, but if it's bad timing just let me know. I'm -- well, I'm pretty much at the Weyr's service, aren't I?" He grins, inhaling some courage through his nose.

K'ran affects sudden wide-eyed skittishness, as if the felines may *even* *now* be preparing to pounce, before flashing those that remain a quick grin, and heading back out toward the bowl.

Jaleran smiles back at K'ran at the Weyrleader's greeting, "Good evening, K'ran." He makes his way towards the meal tables, waving to Amarie and Lanisa as they make their way out. "Felines?" He peers over at Tobay as he starts to fill up a pair of plates for his meal. Yellowtail, a load of vegetables, cornbread with butter, and lentil soup; all in portions consistent with his large frame and appetite. Then he's towards the tables and looking for a seat. "What about felines?"

K'ran walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
K'ran has left.

Claret waves at each of the departing persons in turn before dropping her hands into her lap and folding them there. "My, everybody seems to be going all at once. Goodnight!" she calls after. "And hullo Jaleran," she greets, lifting her hands in a wave again as he enters. "Felines. They're going to come and eat you, if you're not careful. They already attacked the Weyrleader." Sending a beam towards Tobay, Claret speaks in a matter-of-fact tone at odds from her expression. "My talents most certainly extend beyond the seat warming realm. Naturally," she agrees.

Tobay's wave to the departing Candidates comes a moment later than Velano's, then his eyes go wide, either at Jaleran's question or at the size of the heaps on his plate. He adds to Claret's yarn, "Oh, but no fear! He fights them. He was telling us all about this amazing battle, where he went hi-ya, and yaaah!" Punctuated with hand gestures, of course, "and sliced up a feral one." Belatedly, he adds, "Unless I'm one. That's a disturbing thought."

"Evening," Velano greets Jaleran, retreating to the candidates' usual table to settle down with what remains of his dinner - still a reasonably impressive pile of meats, given he's not quite as impressive a beast to feed as the young man just arrived. "I might be one also," he notes, calmly. "But our Weyrleader has the situation under control. His table utensils of stabby safemaking will keep secure our home."

"But there are no predatory breeds of feline in the north." Jaleran speaks with the authority of someone who is really hoping to either be caught as the straight-man in a joke or not be proven wrong. His hand raises of his own accord to scratch at the left side of his chest. "Did K'ran visit south today?" No, he really hasn't picked up that it's likely a jest of some kind and he's really scratching and rubbing at that area of his chest as he starts in on his meal.

Claret shakes her head, her tone dire. "He may have fought them, and gotten away with his life, but he did not win! The felines survived. To attack again," she finishes ominously before looking around for a nearby plate to snitch some food off of. Peering at Tobay and Velano, she agrees. "That is highly disturbing Tobay, you are quite right. It wouldn't be very clever to wish yourself chopped up, if either of you were to be felines."

Tobay brightens, not dissuaded in the slightest by this line of thought. "Yeah, I'd rather not be chopped up. By utensils of stabby safemaking, or otherwise." A little bit of a snicker, and the lad warily returns to his own, quite cold, plate. "Visit south? Not as far as I know. But surely, there are felines here." To illustrate, he tears into his cold meat slice, with wild abandon and a little mewling squeak.

"Yeah, massive, meat-devouring felines," Velano chimes in, tearing at the air with one hand of his, uh, dangerous claws. Past the clawing gesture he actually tends some attention to Jaleran, and belatedly becomes somewhat aware of the tall candidate's discomfort. "But, uh. I hear there were only two of us. I mean them," he remarks, the jest becoming a little more obvious in an effort to gently break the nature of the joke to Jaleran. To top it off, Velano adds, "Mrawr, mrar!"

Jaleran nods with Claret's last words, "Aye. I'd hate to add your pelts to the ones already in my press." He's picked up on the joke a little, but there's still that scratching. "But if you two are predatory felines, I'm afraid I'll have to make certain you can't spread around the north." He idly pulls his large water-steel knife from its sheath at his side and skewers a large piece of broccoli with its tip for effect. "Because before now, before you two, there have never been the attack breeds up here."

"Really fierce ones too," Claret emphasizes, adding to Velano's description. "They probably bite when you get too close, and everything. And there might just be a passel more in hiding somewhere," she adds suggestively. "Where there are two, there are many. My, that's a knife. I mean, a real one. That could be quite a problem. If it's any comfort, Tobay," she starts, turning her head towards him and trying to distract him while she creeps fingers towards his plate, "I won't chop you up into little pieces. Or you, Velano," she adds graciously.

Tobay nods to Velano, continuing the under-his-breath felinish mrowrs, though they turn distinctly fearful in tone, more of a 'mrrrOWr.' "Pelts? Stabbity things?" He gingerly scrapes his chair across the floor as the knife is brandished. "Yeah," he weakly agrees, his voice a squeak of high tenor. "Disease. Can't have that. But," he tries to salvage, "We've had our immunities built up by spending turns in the frozen north. Snow, see, snow kills the feline sickness." Yeah, someone's inventive medicine. "Uh, thanks, Claret. That's very thoughtful of you."

"Ah. Er. Did we say predatory?" Velano's turn to play along, a wary glance at that knife tempered by an only slightly-hesitant grin. "Besides, we're the wrong two. The wrong kind of two. You know." His brows waggle. So much for candidates being nice, innocent minds during candidacy. "And we'd be spotty pelts. I for one can vouch for Tobay being sort of patchy in the fur in some spots." He halves a bow at Claret, though, and graciously replies, "You have no idea how your generosity is appreciated."

Jaleran shrugs, "Why chop them up, when feline pelts carry quite a high value around the Great Holds? Even patchy ones can be made into furniture covers." He continues to use the knife to eat with, the scratching at the left side of his chest has gone down to just an occasional rub from shoulder to bottom of breastbone. "I'm still deciding what I want to use my pelts to make. Especially the ghost-fur pelt." A furious rubbing of the chest follows the mention of that particular pelt.

Claret gives a beatific smile, nodding. "I know. It's a terribly difficult promise to make, because after all, if you were predatory--which clearly you aren't--you might attack me, and then where would I be? In a predicament, of course. Say, Jaleran, d'you really have pelts? That's fascinating. Oh! Because you were in the Southern continent, right?" she asks, nodding her head as her own answer.

Tobay snorts again, this being the second time this evening that he's choked on his food. "Oh, ouch, it hurts," he coughs. That being enough to end his desire to suffer--er, eat, he rises, stretches, and coughs a few more times. "Wrong kind of two. Spotty fur! Thanks. Very helpful, you are." Lifting his plate, he turns, shaking his head. "I think I need to head off for bed. Goodnight, all. I'm destined to eat no more this evening, I can tell. The life of a predator, I guess. No promises, Claret," he browaggles. "Hunh--you should make a tapestry, Jal." Heading toward the barracks, he can be heard mumbling, "I am not spotty. I am a quality pelt. Make a whole rug from this one."

"So, ghost-fur pelt doesn't refer to either of us," Velano decides rather hopefully, raising a hand to fare Tobay well off, snickering quietly as the other Lemos holdboy's parting remarks filter back from the tunnel into the deeper caverns. "You have a bunch of them? Or a few anyway? I had no idea." The butcher's son cants his head aside, smiling sort of faintly at Jaleran. Suddenly, things start to stitch together in the Lemos youth's head, and he suggests, quietly, "You -- got them yourself?"

Tobay walks towards the inner cavern.
Tobay has left.

Jaleran nods to Claret, "Aye, I have six pelts plus my prize two. Signed on with a hunting expedition two, almost three turns ago. Was the last job I took before coming north." He doesn't specify anything about what went wrong on the job, only forces himself to stop scratching at that same spot on his chest by switching the knife to that hand. "Not all by myself. Not the ghost-furs anyway. Only creature I know that can take down a ghost-fur alone is a dragon. People need to hunt in packs. I want to put those two pelts into something very special. I have an idea of what to use at least two of the others in, though." He colors slightly around the ears and neck as he says that, and doesn't elaborate.

Claret waves after Tobay, eyeing him cautiously and looking faintly concerned that he's gone batty. Dragging her attention back to the talk of feline pelts, as opposed to the thought of vaguely human ones, her brow creases. "That's plenty of pelts," she states ambiguously. "I bet there's lots of stuff you can do with them. Well, that's probably why you're having such trouble deciding. That's impressive, isn't it? Sounds a bit dangerous to me," Claret concludes with a brisk nod and another yawn.

"Aie," remarks Velano after downing a small chunk of herdbeast while hearing out Jaleran's explanation. "I suddenly sense you've had more adventure on your trip here than I've had in life thus far." He rises, plate in hand, to head for the tables where used plates are collected and scraps salvaged for porcines and canines, but he pauses closer to Jaleran, musing with a teasing tone, "Making something nice from fur? Hey, if it's something to wear, probably best to have it done soon, while it's still plenty cold!" As though spring won't be plenty cold.

"Aye, enough adventure to fuel Amarie's stories well into the next Pass." Jaleran's voice and expression are only mostly in jest. He nods to both Claret and Velano, "Aye, feline hunts are dangerous. But there are skilled hunters in the south who specialize in clearing felines from inhabited areas." He takes another few bites of his fish meal. "It will be something to wear, I just need to consult with a local weaver on style and size." Since he likely knows his own size and tastes and wouldn't need to consult for those... "You two should get to bed."

Claret nods, scooting herself around in her seat again, preparatory to getting up. "I am going to go to bed. I'm getting awfully sleepy. Say, Jaleran, have you met Amarie's brother? He tells even better stories than she does. -Much- better. I even believed him," she admits wistfully. "His story was very interesting. Of course, there weren't pirates. But there were felines. I expect adventure is a good think, as long as you return from it in one piece. I should like to have an adventure."

The butcher disposes of his plate and turns to consider the others for a sassy moment. "Oh, clearing out the cavern so you can plan your scheme, huh?" His tone is cheery enough, though, and as he passes by the larger candidate another time on his way to the inner caverns he tosses a hand out to, briefly, palm Jaleran's shoulder, then continues the gesture in raising a wave to Claret. "I imagine we all will have a little adventure, come hatching day," he cracks, then wanders off for bed.

Velano walks towards the inner cavern.
Velano has left.

Jaleran's face shifts to a bare scowl at the mention of Eugenian, "He doesn't tell stories, he tells bold-faced lies. He has no more courtesy, good sense, or manners in him than a tunnelsnake." It seems he has met Eugenian, yes. He grins to Velano as the butcher heads out, "Aye, and I'm finally looking completely forward to it." His attitude about being a candidate, while never a poor one, has become much more certain since the egg-touching.

Claret looks rather taken aback by Jaleran's reaction. "Um. Amarie likes him?" she suggests in a placating manner. "Anyway, by both their accounts he couldn't help it, and it was an interesting story, even if I still can't understand why he'd want to make it up and then pretend it was real." Shrugging that off, Claret continues. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there. I liked him." Unfolding herself from her seat, Claret stands. "I'm off to bed, now. I wouldn't kill any felines tonight, if I were you, because there might be an accident. Goodnight, anyway!" she calls as she moves away, tossing a wave over her shoulder.

The candidates take a dunk

2006-08-02T23:28:30Z

Telgar Steam Baths
Nestled between many rock outcroppings in this immense ceilingless cavern lie three pools of water and several smoothed, flat rocks angled towards the sky. Immediately, the warmth of geothermal heat reaches you, and you see steam rising from the springs pools.
Two smaller pools with another, much larger pool past them, rest here. A cliff rises over one end of the large pool, with steps to climb up to the top.
A large tunnel works its way back into the innards of the Weyr, eventually leading those without wings to the inner caverns. Those who can may fly up and over the rim to Telgar's southern bowl. (Use 'places' to see the various springs.)
Contents:
Velano
Jaleran

Obvious exits:
Inner Cavern Bowl

Lanisa walks in from outside the room.
Lanisa has arrived.

Metri walks in from outside the room.
Metri has arrived.

Breena walks in from outside the room.
Breena has arrived.

Jaleran's retreat (yes, retreat... flight... fleeing... running away) to the hot pools is done at nothing less than a dead run. Oh, but Amarie would've laughed herself sane if she'd seen him languisihing in the nursery all day. The kids climbing up his legs, hanging on his arms, and wanting to play 'runner' seven at a time when even his lap can only hold four. As he runs towards the cliff at the back of the dragon pool, he pulls off his shirt, kicks his boots Faranth-knows-where, and climbs to the top with reckless haste.

"No running on the wet rocks," mumbles a rumbly, sleepy voice from one of the smaller pools. Lounging neck-deep in the hottest water, steam rising around his face, Velano's too slow in opening his eyes to catch sight of Jaleran as he speeds across the open reservoir that holds the baths. As such he rises a little out of the water to hunt for the source of the sound of fast-running footsteps with a tired gaze, but soon gives up and puts fingertips to forehead to ward off a swoon from the steam.

"My hands are *killing* me," Breena mutters, her own entrance to the steam baths quite a bit more sedate than Jaleran's. "I should've taken a *real* day off." She shuffles forward, shrugs out of her outer clothing to reveal that same old pair of shorts and tank top, and slips into a pool with a quiet splash.

Claret walks into the cavern at a moderate pace, though her arms are swinging and her stride long. Almost losing hold of her towel and nightgown as she comes through the entrance, she pauses, rearranging them with a scolding glance before finding a dry place to set them down. Shedding most of her clothes at the edge of the pool, she slips in herself.

Yselle walks in from outside the room.
Yselle has arrived.

Lanisa's still a bit subdued as she slips in behind Claret, but she's smiling some again as she sets her things off to the side, high and dry. And then divests herself of her daily wear before heading on to sink in, up to her neck, in the warm water.

The sound of thundering...are those hooves? Certainly Metri's not making that wretched banging. Nope, he's not. It's Jaleran. Metri doesn't seem to know whether to laugh or throw rocks at Jaleran as he ambles through the entrance, towel slung around his neck and bare from the waist up otherwise. Ruffling at his own hair, he tosses his towel (where it's probably going to end up no end of wet) and takes the same path as Jaleran at a more stately pace. "I hope you're not planning on threatening suicide from up here," Metri says as he ascends the steps, "because I don't know if I can talk you out of it. And I don't know if the attempt would work."

After reaching the top of the cliff via the steps carved in its side, Jaleran gets a good grip on the wall to one side and climbs up to a smaller shelf (barely two paces across) that sits a quarter-length higher, his pace still fast but by no means careless at this point. "Suicide? Not likely," he calls back to Metri as he pulls himself fully to his feet on the shelf, facing the dragon pool. "But I've got to get the screaching of weyrbrats out of my head. And a good cliff dive is as good a way as any."

"Meatballs in the head," Velano complains while steadying himself in the water. After a moment doing so he rises to his full height, finding footing on a higher part of the pool's floor, coming clear to the hip out of the water. No tank top, no towel here, but no chance of taking any personal anatomy out into the cold air, either -- he claps his hands over his arms, crossing them over each other, and calls out to the men at the cliff, "Who's judging?"

Yselle looks a fair bit thinner than she had been, although her body has yet to resume its previous shape. When she arrives, it's not alone, but carrying the little bundle that could only be... well, it could be lots of things, but from the gentle way she's carrying it, and the fact that it's moving independently of her, well, that might give away the fact that it's her newborn daughter. An eight turn old boy accompanies them, holding her free hand, and talking so fast he barely leaves time to breathe. "Mummy, what's he doing?" he demands, pointing up at R'sel. Yselle looks up, grins and says, "Oh he's just diving," if anyone might have been thinking the Weyrsecond would get upset, they would have been mistaken, it seems. "Dive to that side," she calls out to him, pointing to one side. "The water's deeper over there."

"Wow," Breena says, looking up from where she's at in the water as the others enter, "I guess we all had the same idea." She rubs her hands together under the water, soaking them for awhile before she finally reaches for the soapsand. Once she catches sight of Yselle, she bobs her head in a quick, polite nod. "Evening, Weyrsecond ma'am."

"Suicide?" Claret asks, that telltale word catching her attention when no other comments explaining Jaleran's rapid pace did. Looking up at him, she murmurs, "Well, that's highly inadvisable." Eyeing Yselle's suggested area for diving, she swims away from that direction, waving to the other candidates as she catches sight of them, along with the Weyrsecond.

Lanisa misses at least part of Yselle's entrance by a simple matter of timing. She ducking under the water to wet her hair, only emerge again to catch the last line and look momentarily confused as she glances first to Ys, then to where she points, and only then up to Jaleran. Now her attention's fixed, watching to see the dive apparently.

"Make it pretty, Jaleran, or I'll have to show you up." Metri grins down at Yselle, squinting to focus a bit more and then saying for the other man's sake, "Ah, she's brought children." So helpful, haa? He waves down to the Weyrsecond to spare yelling, making a decent show of stretching in preparation of outdiving the other man. While half-pretzeled, he says of Yselle's statement, "Good thing she mentioned that."

Yselle watches Jaleran for a moment, and then is dragged unceremoniously to the water by her son. "Oh no, we're not going there," she says. "Imagine how splashed you'd get, and what if he landed on your sister?" Still, for whatever reason, she spots Lanisa before she gets too much further, and tugs the boy over to the edge, as close to Lanisa as she can. "Hey Lani," she hisses. "You okay?" she looks like she could benefit from a good night's sleep herself.

Jaleran pops off a salute to Yselle as she suggests a landing site, then smirks down at Metri making like he's got a chance. "Stick to the low altitudes, Metri. Leave the cliffs to a Barrier Peaks boy." With that, he steps up to the edge of the shelf he climbed up to; his feet half over the edge, toes gripping the rock. "Clear below," he calls down to the pool. Not that anyone is still in his path, but it's a courtesy he's grown up with. Then from one heartbeat to the next he's bent over double, knees bent full and arms pulled behind him. His arms spring forward to add to the powerful spring of his legs as he pushes off, stretched full out in a smooth arc over the water. His body easily clears the rock below him, and then another quarter-length more towards the pool's center before his form points downward. A flick of his arms pulls him into a corkscrew spin and he completes four rotations before he straightens and jack-knifes into the water with respectable smoothness.

Although the splash of Jaleran's landing is in an entirely different pool, Velano half-turns away from it, lifting a hand to shield still-sleepy eyes and cover a half-yawn, which resolves into a grin. "When did everyone get here," he asks rhetorically of no one, and after watching a moment to be certain Jaleran's unlikely to split his head open on the rocks at the bottom of the pool, puts gazes out around to take in everyone else. "Weyrsecond," he calls out, following it up with an almost-affectionate, "Yselle, ma'am. And Roselle, miss," with a wink for emphasis on the last word.

Breena's jaw drops at seeing Jaleran's dive, but she returns her attention to the task at hand. She scrubs herself rather quickly, then hops out of the water, securely wrapping her towel around her. "When we got here," she replies to Velano, with a too-sweet smile. "I'd better get back to sewing, I'll see you all later. Have a good evening, ma'am." She smiles at Yselle, waves to the rest, and hurries out.

Breena walks off towards the Inner Cavern.
Breena has left.

Claret swims toward Lani herself, wrinkling her nose as she regards her with concern. "Did you find your da? Is he okay? And Tear, too?" she asks, running a hand through her not yet wettened hair. "Oof," she breaks off with a wince as she catches the end of Jaleran's dive. Ducking underwater herself, she slicks water from her eyes as she surfaces. Taking belated notice of the little bundle in Yselle's arms, she swims toward the edge of the pool, her mouth rounded into an o. "Is that your little girl?" she asks, trying to get a look at her, not quite noticing Breena's departure.

Lanisa glances again, this time to Metri first, giving a slight grin, "Not going to anyway?" She waves then to the others before Yselle claims part of her attention. Her voice is kept low , "Yeah. I guess so. You?" Then realization, "That's her, eh?" A nod to the baby as she moves far enough from the water to get a look, though it's Jaleran's dive that catches her eye instead. Then she answers with a shake of her head, "He's got to fly home straight, so no -- I've not seen them yet. They'll be okay though, both of them. They told me so." Mystery they.

Yselle adjusts the girl in her arms as her son begins to squirm. "Over there, in /that/ pool, where I can see you," she tells him, and delighted, he runs off to divest himself of clothes and call out "Let's play sea monsters, Mummy!" keeping an eye on the boy, she does manage enough attention for the candidates to grin at the salute, and greetings, and watch Jaleran's dive. "This is Roselle, yes," Yselle'd be dimpling if she had dimples. As it is, she just beams widely and tilts the baby so Claret can get a better look at her. Another glance towards her son, and she answers, "Well, you know, better when he's back," with a rueful smile. "You know..." the rest is muttered quietly. Just when did these two become such good pals, anyway?

Jaleran's return to the surface isn't nearly as quick as anyone watching might expect. In fact, when the momentum of his dive carries him down to skim the pool's bottom, he continues underwater to the far edge. Then he pushes off there and doubles back to the edge under the shelf he dove from before surfacing with bursting lungs. He catches his breath, then starts to swim leisurely over to where folks have grouped up near Yselle, grinning to Metri on his way, "Gonna try to beat it, still?"

The Lemos youth sinks deeper in his little bathing pool, having noticed Breena only soon enough to attempt a farewell to her retreating shape, a hand upraised. He sets off through the water to its opposite edge, taking up the towel awaiting him there, and clambers to the rock and into the fabric in a relatively smooth motion, wrapping the latter 'round his hips. "So that's what they teach you up that way," he marvels half-teasingly at the larger recruit in the dragon-size pool, raising his voice to send it over the waters. His attention rises up to Metri, then, and he grins wider, but says nothing: perhaps Jaleran said it all.

Claret smiles as she gets a view of Roselle, before slipping lower into the water. "She's adorable. Congratulations!" Claret comments before turning to Lani with a nod. "Well, that's good. I hope they get back soon." Ducking under the water a last time, she pulls herself up out of the edge of the pool, plodding over to her towel and wrapping it around her. "I'm going to go to bed," she announces with a wave, eyeing Metri's progress toward diving skeptically as she makes her way out.

The Last Fall, Part 1

2006-08-02T23:21:49Z

First Portion of the Log is Missing

Benden Weyr Sweeps Area
The well-worn road that winds its way to Benden passes through a well grazed field at this point in its journey. And though none of the usual residents of summer and fall are in evidence just now, frost yellowed grasses are far too clearly seen as the unseasonably warm weather chases back the traces of winter's chill. In the distance, a spectacular view of the mountain range surrounding the Weyr proper dominates the horizon. Closer at hand, a meager stone structure offers some small protection for few should they be caught out, but on the whole the rolling hills of pasture sit open and exposed to the elements.
Contents:
Tobay
Lanisa
Metri
D'va
Lexiana(#2598PJace)

Obvious exits:
Trail to Benden Sky

In the sky directly above, High atop Qeturath, Chayil barely gets out from under one piece of danger before another one's heading her way. It's a good thing no one can hear the stream of language hissing out of Chayil's mouth as she shoots a blast of agenothree towards this latest thread, straight up. One can only imagine the draconic messages she's having Qeturath send towards the Weyrleader in charge of the greenrider and brownrider who keep missing theirs and letting her deal with their missed shots.

In the sky directly above, Semirath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Semirath wings down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.

"I suspected you might." Lani says, giving another small grin Metri, before glancing at the others, "Shall we get back to it then? While there's still some for us?"

Lexiana nods and watches Claret unearth the burrow as she only uncovers ash. "Hmm. It looks like it is all gone."

In the sky directly above, Zaith and her rider react to both an audible and inaudible shout from further back in the Istan queens' wing. Looking up, both spot yet another clump heading their way. The menace is catalogued as the Harvest Moon gold once more falls out of formation, this time rising above the others to meet the Thread head-on. Kyrola curses as the flamethrower seems to jam for a moment, and they quickly veer off, letting one of their fellow Istan queens grab the Thread for them. Meanwhile, as they resume their places in formation with the other Weyrs' queens, Kyrola works to clear the clog in her flamethrower as Zaith keeps alerrt for more incoming Thread.

In the sky directly above, Qeturath has had quite a bit of bad luck, or rather, the two or three dragonpairs above her have let quite a bit through to the Igen senior gold. Thus, even as the thread heads towards her, Qeturath is sinking down below the ranks so that Chayil can change her agenothree cannister for a fresh one. Seeing her plight, a Benden goldrider swoops in and chars the clump of thread that's menacing Qeturath and Chayil. When she looks up and realizes what nearly happened, Chayil's face turns while, but she does get her sprayer in order much more quickly, and resume her place in formation.

Hrmphing lightly, Metri fixes the position of his tank and says, "Back to it, right. Hate to have everyone else hogging it." Note the sarcasm, even while he does take up a position near Lani, sheltering his eyes with his sleeve and peering into the sky.

In the sky directly above, Wynith beats her wings trying to keep pace though this is the longest threadfall she's flown as yet and it's affecting her rider who's arms grow heavy with the lifting and aiming of the flame thrower. Yet the pair still manage to turn half the falling thread to ash dust but the burst from the thrower has them turning quickly to leave the remainder untouched and just as deadly.

In the sky directly above, Astride golden Qeturath, Chayil waves towards M'val during a split-second of respite from the fight, letting her weyrleader know that she's still alive and still unharmed, but for a few minor frights.

"I'm not worried about them hogging." Lani replies quietly, but she doesn't elaborate as she keeps watch again. After a bit, she adds. "Still.. Rather impressive. All those dragons together up there."

"Yup," Claret agrees before training her glance skyward to watch the more visible queens wings. That and Thread. Wincing as a dragon takes a score, she sights the falling clump, moving toward it in hopes that somebody will spray it, ready to shovel up the burrow once the ash lands.

In the sky directly above, Decarath emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Decarath wings upward into the upper sky.

In the sky directly above, On Psamanth, Karimina heads towards the ground as the blue that took her place flames the thread that is falling on top of her.

In the sky directly above, Psamanth :heads towards the ground as the blue that took her place flames the thread that is falling on top of her.

In the sky directly above, Psamanth wings down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Chaedanth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Arlyth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Chaedanth flies up into the upper sky.

In the sky directly above, Arlyth rises up into the upper sky.

Gevra comes down a footpath from near Benden Weyr.
Gevra has arrived.

Metri spots Claret's running before he spots the thread itself. He hefts himself to the area in time to watch the stuff hit the ground, and while he catches the tail end, he points down with the end of his sprayer. "Missed," he tells Claret shortly, obviously her cue to dig.

Lexiana nods to her second and sighs. "I have to take a break." she says to the others.

Gevra joins the groundcrew with her fresh agenothree tank.

Claret follows said cue, wasting no time in finishing her rush over and bending yet again to turn up the earth, trying to shovel quicker then the Thread can burrow. "There," she says, as the small writhing mass is unearthed. Pulling back her shovel so it won't get swallowed by the agenothree, she indicates that it's ready to be sprayed.

Lanisa was caught off guard, but is quick to join the others at the burrow, though she lets Metri take this one that he'd already started with, as she watches for others.

In the sky directly above, Astride Wynith, Draila scans the skies again while lifting a hand to shade her eyes from floating ash dust. Slowly she manages to pick out familiar forms and a sigh of relief escapes her. Then her gaze travels below to do the same. Checking the groundcrew and the healer areas.

Another cue. Metri lets loose the contents of his tank, killing the writhing and burrowing thread, and then stopping long enough to peer at the ash. And that's certainly all that's left, ash. He sighs, shaking his head. "This is hard."

In the sky directly above, Juliath rises up into the sky from the staging area outside Benden.

In the sky directly above, Juliath wings upward into the upper sky.

In the sky directly above, Qeturath stretches her lean body out, pushing herself to reach for the falling twined threads, as her itsy bitsy rider leans forward with sprayer wand outstretched. As they come close enough, the thread is a bit below straight-on, so Chayil adjusts her aim to compensate for where the thread will be when her agenothree meets it in the air. One, two, three short squirts, and the thread is no more, soaked and acide-burned to gloppy wads of ash which splorp harmlessly on the soil.

In the sky directly above, Zaith shifts on the fly as yet more Thread escapes the wings higher up. Kyrola directs a frown upwards, with a mental note to advise S'dar about what she saw and let him deal with it. Meanwhile, at the head of the Istan formation, Zaith turns slightly to get slightly nearer to the Igen queens, having spotted a bit of Thread that's begging to be flamed. Kyrola directs her flamethrower's wand in the correct direction and directs the burst toward the Thread. When it's burning quite prettily, she releases the button on her flamethrower before there's any danger to her colleagues. Kyrola offers a salute to Chayil aboard Qeturath before returning to her position with the Istans.

In the sky directly above, High between Qeturath's neck ridges, Chayil makes certain there's no more thread headed her way for a second, then casts a winking salute back towards Kyrola, appreciation and respect beneath the stress-concealing humor. Sisterhood is powerful.

Claret makes a face at Metri as she flexes her sooty fingers. "Well, at least you're not bending over and shoveling away. That'd be even harder. Though it's all a bit unpleasant," she admits with a sigh, inspecting the burrow for any more signs of life, and turning the dirt over a few more times just to make sure.

In the sky directly above, Gherith emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Perched atop Zaith, Kyrola checks over her shoulder at a shout from behind her, but a message passed through the Istan queens advises her not to worry about it for now, so she doesn't. As Zaith gives her an update, she raises her flamethrower wand once more. "Don't you dare ask me if we're there yet," she mutters to her lifemate as she takes care of that writhing sheet of Thread, a long tongue of flame reaching out to run through the sheet, the Thread quickly incinerating to a crisp. "Or I'll turn this wing around right now and go home..."

In the sky directly above, Gherith rises up into the upper sky.

Gevra stands ready with her agenothree tank, peering up at the sky.

In the sky directly above, Typhenth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

In the sky directly above, Typhenth flies higher into the upper sky.

In the sky directly above, Qeturath seems a little more comfortable with the number of golds in the sky, now that a good third of them have landed, either from injury or in order to act as dragonhealers for others. Less worried now that one gold will crash into another, she motions for the Igenite queens to spread out a tad, covering the weak points of the upper lines where one Weyr's dragons meet another Weyr's dragons, and where individual wings meet up as well.

Lexiana finishes up her drink and straps back on her tank. She glazes up at the sky ready for the next thread to fall to the ground

"Yeah, well, I've done my share of shovelling too," Metri informs Claret, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, the one that wasn't used for wiping ash out of his hair. Back to studiously studying the sky. Again.

In the sky directly above, Madieth disappears into Between.

Claret steps back from the burrow, resting her shovel against her. "Well then, that must make spraying all that much more unpleasant, with sore arms, maybe," Claret replies ambivalently, turning her eyes to the sky as well. "Think it's almost done?" she asks, putting forth the question to anybody in the general vicinity.

In the sky directly above, Once again, Pern has faced threadfall -- not separately as individuals, not in sub-groups such as wings, flights, Holds, Halls, or Weyrs -- but together, as one, unified in purpose and effort. Thanks to fifty turns of blood, sweat, and tears, thanks to the lives dedicated to the protection of others, thanks most of all to the deaths of family, friends, and lovers of nearly every human being across both continents, thread is vanquished for the tenth time in Pernese history. Once again, their planet is safe... for the next two hundred turns. After the battles, we're still around Everything once up in the air has settled down Sweep the ashes, let the silence find us An Interval's peace is worth every 'fall behind us

In the sky directly above, From high between Wynith's neckridges, Draila slumps forward as the skies clear. She leaves Wynith to glide downwards and land as her flame thrower is turned off and swung back into its resting place on her back. "Is it really over?" She murmurs in thankful yet disbelief.

In the sky directly above, Wynith wings down and lands lightly on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, High atop Qeturath, Chayil glances around swiftly, then more slowly as it occurs to her that thread has stopped falling. "That's it?" she wonders, taken aback. "That's... it?" It takes her quite a while of circling around in the air before she's ready to admit that it's really over, but finally she does land.

In the sky directly above, Qeturath wings down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.

Lexiana wipes her eyes of ash as the last fall ends. Blink twice, no three times, a smile comes to her face and a happy yell comes from her month.

"How's that for an answer?" Metri asks, head tilted back and the sprayer lacksadaisickal at his side. "I think so," he says anyways, grinning removing the tank he's wearing and putting it with the rest. Lexiana's yell earns a whoop from him as well.

In the sky directly above, Hosozoth backwings to a neat landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Hicerth banks and lands neatly on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Daianth swoops down to a landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Gherith flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Semirath launches into the sky from the staging area outside Benden.

In the sky directly above, Semirath climbs higher into the upper sky.

Lexiana smiles as she starts to gather the tanks into one pile.

Gevra sighs and shakes her head. "So that's it," she says and puts her tank with the rest.

In the sky directly above, Lysseth glides to a swift landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Dzurath flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Decarath wings down and lands lightly on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Chaedanth wings down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Zaith remains aloft as the news spreads. Kyrola relaxes against her dearest lifemate, one hand on the queen's oiled hide. "We did it," she murmurs softly, tears shining and quickly drying on her face, even as her eyes track skyward once more. Not for Thread, but for a certain rider of her acquaintance, a slight smile appearing on her face as she realizes he had survived as well. "Perhaps now is the time," Kyrola says as she then directs Zaith in passing along Chezroth's orders to the rest of the Istan queens. "Go see to the wounded," she says aloud.

In the sky directly above, Arlyth glides to a swift landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Nraith disappears into Between.

In the sky directly above, Riolth flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Lorieth wearily winds her way down, long lazy spirals described by the jade lady, her wings scarcely moving. She won't live long enough to fight again, though her life has been dedicated to it. a warbling thrum starts deep in her throat, the sound echoing off landscape the closer she gets to the ground. Her rider, himself old and weary, pats her on the neck, feeling his own age as well.

In the sky directly above, Giareth glides to a swift landing on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Djarith wings down and lands lightly on the ground at the staging area.

In the sky directly above, Juliath disappears into Between.

In the sky directly above, Lorieth backwings to a neat landing on the ground at the staging area.

D'va has disconnected.

In the sky directly above, Michenth flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.

Claret drops her shovel hastily with the other spares, and though she doesn't add a shout to her delight, she grins probably. "Good answer," she agrees, tone bright as she starts making her way off the meadow, the hope for a cool drink superceding and thoughts of helping to clean up.

The dragonhealers' work, which began shortly after fall, continues. Most of the walking (or flying) wounded are being shipped home, while some are being helped along. Most of the dragons that were too injured to fly went directly home or died. Benden Weyr has taken up as many dragons as needed. All that's left now are people who can fly home, though many will be flying a long, straight flight.

"Ma'am," comes Velano's voice to Sarai a final time. "Thank you? I mean, for teaching me so I could help. I need to find the rest of the candidates -- and, er, L'ret." A frown downcurves the butcher's mouth, and in the craze he entirely misses Lysseth's landing and Kassima's dismount. "Do you still need me, or may I -- ?"

Th'res is laying next to his dragon as he is not allowed to move much, But he does take a an offered drink of wine.

Danielle clambers down Arlyth's side and pats the green heavily on the neck but with affection. There's a moment where she looks up at the sky whistfully and then turns to check Arlyth over. The green is unharmed and now comes the fun part, Danielle moves on to check the Weyrlings...

Metri Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer fields.
Metri has arrived.

Sh'van jumps down Giareth's side to the ground, using his foreleg as a step.
Sh'van has arrived.

Kassima slides down from Lysseth's neckridges to land beside her with ease. Lysseth cocks her head at her rider, rumbling quietly as Kassi gives her eyeridges a grateful scratching.

Kassima has arrived.

Gevra Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer fields.
Gevra has arrived.

Livia gives Miralin another grin, then it fades a bit, "Good. You flew well today. You should be proud." She continues down the line to check on the remainder of her riders, checking with each to be sure no one is hurt that she isn't aware of. Some riders even get hugs.

Lexiana Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer fields.

Lexiana has arrived.

Astride Wynith, Draila swings a leg over and hip slides down Wynith's side. She takes a moment to check out the other Fortian dragons in hopes that no extra injuries have been found.

Draila slides down Wynith's offered foreleg. Wynith croons softly when her lifemate reaches the ground.

Draila has arrived.

J'lyn pulls off his helmet, goggles and gloves and leans against his lifemate. So many new faces, so many -young- faces. How many wouldn't be here had he and his comrades not have been there fifty Turns ago when all this started? How many more new faces will take up the mantle of dragonrider after he and his are gone? He absently pats the large green's muscled thigh, a slight smile on his face, and for once, he looks all of his seventy-odd Turns.

Miralin unbuckles her helmet, loosening her hair, and watches M'val curiously from under her overgrown bangs.

Vrisalka climbs down from Michenth's neck.
Vrisalka has arrived.

Sarai ehs at the candidate at her elbow. "Oh, yes, you're welcome, Velano. You did good. If Telgar doesn't pan out, Igen has less snow." Sarai smiles at the boy. "Go join your friends. You did well." Sarai limps her waty around the various people she knows, checking friends and strangers alike for dragonhealing needs. After a moment, she realizes a horrifying fact. Everything's under control now. Another moment passes and Sarai winds her way towards the Igen delegation.

"I'll look them over, Karimina." Ami assures. Though she finishes with the scores and checks the burns before she moves on to look the green over more carefully, "The numbweed helping now?"

Sh'van immediately takes off his helmet and loosens his jacket after alighting on the ground, tugging the ends of his scarf out of the jacket now that it's safe to do so. "Safe," he murmurs audibly, and then his face splits in a grin. "Giareth, you seen Des?" Upon being given direction, the young High Reaches bronzerider slips through the crowd, passing by J'lyn and pausing long enough to direct a look of respect to the much older rider. "Sir," he says and continues on his way to find Des.

Lexiana walks out towards the dragon stopping and giving the all a long look. A joyful look comes to her face, however there is some sorrow too. Looking for those that she knows, she keeps to the background.

In the sky directly above, Zaith swoops down to a landing on the ground at the staging area.
Zaith has arrived.

Kyrola slithers down Zaith's side to the ground.
Kyrola has arrived.

Luni cleans up her mess, including her arms, before pattering off to see who else she can tend to. As she moves through the crowd she looks searchingly about, hunting through the riders until she spots Livia at last and doesn't so much smile as look relieved. Still peeking for Mistral riders, she does stop by Rulana though and ask, "You both are well? I hope you are well!"

Gevra deposits the tanks she's carrying with the smiths, then looks around the field. Her eyes widen as they pass over a particular dragon, and she edges out of the way behind a Telgar dragon.

S'rist takes a long look over Dzurath, making his way around to check him out completely, before he comes back to his muzzle and gives him a pat on the neck, "Good flying, you brought me through once again..."

In the sky directly above, Typhenth flies down to land gently on the ground at the staging area.
Typhenth has arrived.

Joshi comes back out of the weyr several minutes later amidst all the celebrations and healing going on. She makes her way to Wilanth's side once more and leans against the green dragon for her support. She looks tired and drained from her little trip to the privy.

A few blinks come from the Lemos butcher, but after a moment he grins gratefully at the senior Dragonhealer, his expression turning greatly pleased at her something-like-an-invitation. "Thank you," he manages. "Again." Ah, wit. And then Velano's off, hunting out among the milling crowd his Telgari peers.

J'lyn has disconnected.

M'val fetches up next to S'rist. The fury of a little while ago has drained out, leaving him looking a little lost. Or perhaps that's just what he looks like when he's thoroughly relieved, tired, and facing the fact that the last Fall is over.

Kassima does manage to dismount, but the action finishes blanching her face to white beneath the ash. "So many Turns," she mutters into Lysseth's shoulder. "Nay a mark. Last time out--" She laughs under her breath. "Ach, should've *known*. But 'twere lucky, weren't we? Just rest a moment, lady-love, then we can get back." Lysseth hums softly, curving her neck to nose at her rider's helmet and cheek.

Karimina nods "Yes, she says that the pain is better now." With a nod to the healer as her wraps arm in bandages. "Thank you very much."

Rulana stays right where she is, there being so many dragons and riders about, as she answers Luni with a nod. "We're both fine, just fine. Does anyone else need any help do you know?"

R'din's expression suddenly turns somber as he surveys the amount of injured, "Didn't realize..." Eyes then turn up to the four remaining Igen wings in the sky with a soft sigh, watching M'val for several moments before turning away to search for other Igenites.

Livia finishes up with the Mistral ranks, then heads towards Wilanth and Joshi. She eyes the greenrider and tsks, "You alright?" She pulls her helmet off finally, tucking it under her arm.

Lanisa Comes into the staging area along a footpath from one of the outer fields.
Lanisa has arrived.

Kyrola practically jumps down from Zaith's back as the pair alight, immediately going in search of Reye and Omfaleth to check on them. Meanwhile, Zaith checks with Chezroth to see how their dragons and riders fared, the Istan gold letting out a soft sigh when she gets the report of how many didn't return, or may never fly again. "Everyone else all right, though?" Kyrola asks distractedly as she automatically checks out the other Istan riders for injuries on her way.

S'rist offers M'val his arm, "Not the cleanest fall I've flown M'val, the winds out there were rough. But it looks like we've made it through."

Luni looks that much more relieved, and she breathes, "I'm ever so glad. I haven't spotted anyone else, yet," though she does turn to look. She whispers to Rula, then, "Sarai had me do stitching! I do hope nothing rips out, or scars horribly, or anything like that. I just tried to keep thinking of porcine feet, you must know how it is. How was it up there? How does it feel, your last one?"

Sarai limps up to M'val and S'rist, catching the High Reachians comment. "It didn't look that bad from here," she points out to the Weyrleaders.

Amilin nods as she continues her inspection of Sam, "Have her flex her wings then, does that bother her at all?" She asks of Karimina, "They look to be fine otherwise."

Vrisalka thanks the healer who bandaged up her arm, and hops back up onto Michenth.
Vrisalka climbs up to Michenth's neck.
Vrisalka has left.

Michenth rises up into the sky.
Michenth has left.

In the sky directly above, Michenth springs powerfully into the sky from the staging area outside Benden.
In the sky directly above, Michenth flies higher into the upper sky.

Djarith doesn't land with everyone else, just circles low, until a signal confirms a communication with S'dar, and the Weyrsecond takes off with some of the riders to help fly a post-Fall Sweep. Overkill, yes, but some need the finality. And A'ley and Djarith seem to be among them.

Metri bounds from the adjoined field, just as quick to join Velano and the rest of his fellow candidates. He's got that goofy grin (not that he ever grins /ungoofy/), covered in ash and dirt, among other things. "Brilliant!" he exclaims as he bounces to a halt with the rest of his peers.

M'val grips S'rist's forearm, the greeting of equals, and shakes his head. "Sloppiest Fall I've ever seen, except this one time...though we had a lot of crosswinds. But...but... It's over." He rubs his eyes, which mostly succeeds in getting more ash smeared over his forehead, and says to Sarai, "You missed all the near-collisions - or did you see K'than? That *was* a collision. I hope Ryeth's all right, I couldn't see if she got hit too. He got scored 'cause they were out of control because of the collision. More wingtips than we should have - you wouldn't see those either, most of ours at least will take care of those." He stops suddenly. "I haven't babbled like that in, in, in a long time."

Velano, searching for familiar voices and faces, makes a wide path around a green's haunch only to find that the dragon's rider is familiar. "Kassima!" He darts looks either way, as if lurkfully uncertain whether or not he might be overheard referring to the rider by name, and whether anyone else will care. Then, taking in the rider more carefully, he notes with disapproval, "You're hurt." The butcher's lips thin into a narrow line, but he exhales after a second and adds, "I guess I can't complain. I didn't make you swear." A beat. "I should have."

Karimina sighs as her dragon is starting to feel better. Sam does flex her wing with a happy rumble. "She says they feel fine." She looks around the fall. "She says that I should go and help the other's now." and loving look is given to her green. "Do you mind if I help you with the other dragons."

In the sky directly above, Mirrath banks and lands neatly on the ground at the staging area.
Mirrath has arrived.

Tarien slides down from Mirrath's neckridges, landing with a quiet thump.
Tarien has arrived.

Yashira just leans against Decarath, lips curved in a faint smile.

Joshi looks at Livia and down at her arm in the splint. "They had to re-break it to put it back where it was." She tenses up as she says that. "I broke the damn thing when Wilanth landed and bellyflopped to the ground. Her knee gave out from her injury and the straps broke. I would have been thrown off if my arm hadn't gotten tangled in the straps and when she was drug across the ground, she drug me with her."

Typhenth launches into the sky.
Typhenth has left.

In the sky directly above, Typhenth springs powerfully into the sky from the staging area outside Benden.
In the sky directly above, Typhenth disappears into Between.

Sarai looks amused at M'val and kisses his cheek, rather impulsively, before handing him (and S'rist) damp clothes to wipe their faces with. "Given how many dragons were in the sky, I think it went well. Less injuries than I expected." Then again, Sarai was probably thinking up in the two hundreds.

R'din approaches Rulana and Luni, stretching out his arms while swinging them, "All right there, Rulana, Gherith?" The bluerider calls out, noticing Luni, "You too, Luni?"

Chayil dismounts Qeturath's neck ridges with ease, hopping the last few feet down and giving her lifemate a loving pat on the forelimb.
Chayil has arrived.

Miralin has a seat on Hosozoth's forearm and rubs her temples.

Gevra waits with her fellow Telgar Candidates, doing her best to stay out of the way.

Livia grimaces at Joshi, "Oy. Shells. Well, then I imagine you'll appreciate the drinks we'll have..later, not now. They'll numb the pair a bit. Glad to see you still standing, as it were."

Kassima shifts on her good leg to give Velano a look that has some actual amusement in it. "Nay," she drawls, voice somewhat hoarse from yelling commands over the wind, "you shouldn't have, since then I'd have broken m'word. *Stupid* accident. We'd seared it, I swear we had, but a piece--well, never mind. Is there any numbweed left? I want her neck numbed, at least, a'fore we try getting back."

S'rist nods a bit as he holds the grip with M'val a bit longer, then releases. "I know, these warm spots in winter are always the worst for winds." He takes the cloth from Sarai and wipes down his face, "Thank you Sarai, it could have been a lot worse, I didn't see any lost at least from where 'reaches was flying."

Rulana watches thoughtfully as Typhenth leaves, nodding again to Luni. 'I'm sure that they were grateful for the repairs anyway, You're good, they'll hold I'm sure." and another nod to R'din as he approaches, "We're fine. You?"

"Glad to see they're all alive," Joshi murmurs. She smiles at Livia and says, "Now's the time for celebration." She glances around and says, "So why do I want to go home and sleep?"

Janine has connected.

Livia reaches to touch Joshi's not broken arm, and nods, "It was a long day. We can celebrate tomorrow. You ought to go rest. And I'll think about writing my wing report..."

Draila quietly listens as words are exchanged between a few known riders. Her brow worries as she hears the reports on the latest batch of Fort's Weyrling. But each detail is taken in then she turns about to scan the crowd curiously.

Luni murmurs, "Oh, thank you, I hope so. There is more to it, but... I am so glad you are safe!" and impulsively reaches out to hug her friend, those streaks of redwort that got through the oil now dry instead of fresh. She does turn as R'din says her name, and exclaims, "Thank goodness! Joshi, I did hear she and Wilanth had a hard time of it, the poor dear, but she's talking so she cannot be too badly hurt, can she?"

"You still haven't had it seen?" Now, Velano is faintly irate, though it's an affectionate sort of rage for the Telgari wingleader. "Hey, Metri," he announces as greeting to the pale-eyed candidate, "Your husband's lifemate still needs numbweed. I'll get it, if you want to scold her nicely while I do," and with a grin and a nod, he's off into the supplies he's spend most of the day using. As such, it does not take long for him to turn up a jar with some of the stuff still in it.

M'val puts his fingers to his cheek where Sarai kissed it, opens his mouth, shuts it, and then wipes at his other cheek and his forehead with the cloth. "I'm glad. With so many dragons up there it was a little, well, overwhelming to keep track of."

Metri grins at Kassi and Lysseth before letting it drop to concern. "Toughy, aren't you Lysseth?" he inquires of the green dragon, and then with a scolding look at Kassi, adds, "I'm supposed to scold. Here I go. Scold scold scold I'm glad you're okay scold scold."

Sarai nods at S'rist, rather marked up with ichor and redwort, "You should've been down here. Half the capable dragonhealers were in the sky or at their Weyrs." M'vel gets a faintly sheepish expression. "I know I keep asking this, but ... we're sure? This is it? I mean, if we wake up a sevenday and some Weyr has thread, we're gonna look like fools."

Chayil finally sees a badly injured dragon being helped back to the Benden infirmary, where he and his rider will remain until they're cleared to fly to their own Weyr again in a few sevendays. Once he's safe, she takes a long look around to find others to heal, but they all seem to be in good hands. No more emergencies. No more threadscores. Ever. She stands stock still, looking whelmed and a little shell-shocked.

Miralin heaves herself off of Hosozoth's forearm, gives the green a loving caress, and pads over to where Sarai and M'val stand. "M'val," she asks, "did you still want the wingriders to check in with you?"

M'val tilts his head at Sarai's question, then looks sidelong at S'rist before he says, "Mother's sure." Just why his mother being sure might be relevant does not look like something he particularly wants to explain.

Lanisa doesn't bound herself. She's still a bit more subdued than that. But she makes a quiet shadow in Metri's wake. At least until they get close enough she can look about for any sign of her father, most likely, from the way she peers about.

R'din nods at Rulana, "You did good, at least from what I saw." He replies, "We're good, too. I'm pleased with Daianth's performance, we didn't want to get scored. Nobody deserves that..." He blinks at Luni, looking over at Joshi for a moment. "Yeah, she'll be fine." A nod.

Having checked for herself how bad Reye and Omfaleth's injuries were, blessedly minor, Kyrola nods to herself, meandering through the crowd once more. Someone hands her something wet to clean her face off, and she murmurs a grateful reply as she finally tugs off her helmet and goggles, her face looking like she'd fallen face-first into an ashpit. The wet rag isn't nearly enough to take care of the mess, but it'll do for now as she shrugs out of her flamethrower's straps and leaves it near Zaith to keep an eye on. Then she makes her way through the press toward where M'val, Sarai, and S'rist are, pausing near Chayil. "You okay?" she asks with concern in her voice.

Joshi nods to Livia. "I have to go check with the dragonhealers to see if we can make it between home." She explains that to Livia. However she doesn't attempt to move yet, still looking tired from her walk into the weyr and back.

S'rist gives a bit of a nod, "We're as sure as we were sure it'd fall here today... so hopefully the charts haven't shown us wrong from last pass." He turns and looks about, just looking for all the familiar faces, each one seen one less person to worry about having made it through safe.

"The Fall just ended," Kassi points out dryly, as if this is the most reasonable reason in the world for not having had it seen to. "And I don't think 'tis that bad, poor love, naught like Tear took--and Is--how're they? D'you know? Did they get back t'Telgar; will they be all right?" Not that she stops caressing her lifemate's neck and shoulder for a moment to go look or anything. Same reason she hasn't said a thing about her leg. Proirities. Lysseth gives Metri a very, very tired rumble in answer. "Toughest wench you ever met," says Kassi, with pride. "And I appreciate your, err, concern. Thankee, Velano." She holds out her hand for the jar.

Amilin nods, "Alright then. I want you both to rest here for a while though, Karimina. And check with me before leaving. We need to get you two back to the weyr once you've had enough rest."

Janine quietly cleans some minor lacing on Ace's left wingtip, humming softly to herself.

Livia nods her head and tells Joshi, "If you need help, Hicerth and I will be happy to back you up. If you don't mind waiting, that is..I have a few more rounds to make before we should rightly head back." Her gloves come off, tucking away into her belt.

Sarai seems to take M'val's statement as better than Chayil's mathematical proofs. "That's good. Your fellow, Th'res? He won't be flying for a while yet, S'rist. Thread almost took his head off. Still, he's better than a lot of them."

Chayil is still dirty-faced, dirty all over, reeking of ash, sweat, and the thin mist of agenothree that she collected upon her leathers and face shield. "Huh?" she says a bit slowly, turning to blink owlishly at Kyrola before snapping back into the here and now. "Oh! Yes. Just fine. I was just thinking it's going to be a long haul to rebuild and really realize that it's gone."

Helpers are running around with wash cloths and soap for riders.

In the sky directly above, Liorth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air!

Psamanth is much happier now that the numbweed is working and goes over to nuzzle with Qortenenth. She lays down next to the brown. Karimina nods to Amilin, as she watches her dragon and follows her to Th'res.

M'val waves at Chayil - it's amazing that he saw the short goldrider standing still, but then, Riolth does seem to be looking in Chayil's direction. "Ugh. Glad I didn't see that one. Th'res. I'm sorry I abandoned you on the dragonhealing thing, Sarai, but I had to be up there for this one."

In the sky directly above, Liorth wings down to a quick landing on the ground at the staging area.
Liorth has arrived.

Liorth wings down after a handful of Avalanche dragons, his rider quick to slide to the ground.

R'dus climbs down Liorth's side to the ground, using his foreleg as a step.
R'dus has arrived.

Th'res is well, laying down on the job you might say. He has his head proped up on ther Browns tale. He grins at Psamanth as Qort croons and nuzzles her neck.

Sarai waves a hand, "Irony of ironies, I actually could have flown today, you know." Sarai shrugs. "But I thought today would be a remarkably bad time to return to threadfall. Last sevenday, maybe. Last month, for sure. Not today."

Claret follows in Metri and Lani's wake, the bright smile on her face fading slightly as she takes in the number of injured dragons and riders, though it doesn't banish completely. Lingering by her fellow candidates she continues her inspection of all those nearby.

The Bendenites bring out bree, wine, juice and water for everyone. They're so nice. People make jokes about Benden's water, though.

Kyrola looks from the Igen goldrider to the mess around them, dragons and riders still being dealt with by the dragon and human healers, and she nods. "Yes, but we'll get it done more quickly now than we would have when we had to fight Thread every few days," she replies reasonably. "I'll lay odds that there'll be any number of us waking up early on the days we /know/ there's supposed to be Thread." As Riolth looks in her direction as he's looking toward Chayil, she offers the Igen bronze a slight tilt of her head, a gesture of respect, and M'val himself is given a second nod as well. "Clear skies will mean something now," she murmurs to Chayil with a growing smile on her face.

Miralin has disconnected.

S'rist nods a bit, "Yes, I saw him go down. I should check in with my wings now, see what the overall is... " and then with an emphasis and a grin, "Clear skies, M'val."

Joshi nods at Livia. "I'd appreciate that." She nods the Wingleader on to go find and report on injuries and the like. Her eyes search out the dragonhealer from earlier and she walks over to talk with him.

Karimina smiles down on Th'res, her eyes taking in his injuries. "How bad is it, Th'res." She says softly, trying to hide her arm.

The jar in question is placed in Kassima's hand, after which the butcher's son casts a glance off toward the last spot he saw Taralyth and her rider. "They came down scored, but Taralyth took the worst of it. I'm not sure about I'sai -- he was hurt, but I think he may have been more shocked than seriously wounded. He took a lot of wine, ate a bit, and started a nap," Velano reports.

Rulana glances over her shoulder to Gherith for a moment, then back to Luni and R'din. "I know there's a lot of celebrating to do here, but you know, I think that i need the relative quiet of Igen for a little while at least. You'll keep an eye on K'than and the others who were hurt, Luni?"

M'val, who almost never uses the phrase, says, with feeling, "Clear skies, S'rist." He gives Kyrola a smile and a nod to return hers. He touches his cheek again where Sarai kissed it, then reluctantly starts rubbing at that cheek too with the not-very-clean cloth. He says to his former senior, "We got the last one. Riolth and me."

Th'res grins up at Karimina "feels like Beaf kicked me in the chest. how is the arm? yes I saw it." he says patting the brown who is crooning over Psam's injuries.

Livia nods to Joshi, turning away from her. She pauses as she turns, looking across the open area with a peculiar expression. She takes two quick steps forward, then her head ducks and she turns again, this time to her left. She quickly walks in that direction, rubbing the back of her neck. She spots Luni and the two riders near her, and starts that way with a quick step. Even quicker when she hears K'than's name from their direction.

R'dus unbundles a bit, checking his riders briefly as he moves through the groups of riders. The wingsecond might be looking for Melata, but... With a shrug, figuring he'll speak with her later, he makes his way toward Qortenenth's rider. "Really?" he asks as he overhears the boy's words to Karimina.

Lexiana goes home.
Lexiana has left.

Chayil gives Kyrola a smile, now that she's really paying attention to her surroundings again. A glance around -- towards her Weyrleader, her mentors, her friends, her wingmates -- assures her of exactly who's still alive, who's harmed and unharmed. With the sound of satisfaction in her voice, despite all the pain, deaths, and uncertainty that she and most riders have known all their lives, she says, "Then clear skies, to you and to Ista. Igen appreciated Ista's presence today. I'm glad you were all hear."

Lanisa blanches some all over again at Velano's report on Taralyth and her father to Kassi, but for her part remains quiet still. Not drawing attention to herself as she attempts to see through the jumble of riders. As if she could.

Draila seems quite content to remain quiet though she begins to smile brightly as calls of Clear skies are heard. "How strange those words suddenly sound." She thanks a passing helper with damp cloths and begins wiping down her face and neck.

Metri turns around at all this mention of Is and Tear, to the shadow that is Lani. He's not grinning anymore. Draping one arm around her shoulders, Metri leans in to ask, "Want to find him?"

Kassima opens the jar and sets to rubbing numbweed on Lysseth's neck at once, never mind oiling her fingers first: there's a thin, shallow 'score in need of tending. The dragon bears this stoically and keeps nudging her rider's shoulder. "*After* you," the greenrider mutters. "Stay still for me, love. --We saw the 'scoring, and Lyss said Tear said 'twere *alive*, but that's nay much diagnosis. I'm glad if'n Is isn't bad off, but Tear...." She blows out a breath. "Well. Can't have been too catastrophic if'n he was able t'nap. Hey, Yash, you hear of any injuries in the Wing? None have been reported t'me besides a couple of wingtips, a tailtip, a half-score of ash burns."

Karimina smiles down at Th'res. "I can imagine that. Are you sure that you will be okay?" and salute is given to R'dus.

Luni has begun to murmur to R'din, "I am glad he did well al..." and then she just fails to say anything more, eyes very wide on Rulana. When she speaks again it is to say simply, as if it were plain fact, "He could not have been hurt. He isn't here. I would have seen, seen Ryeth at least. At the very least."

Yashira shakes her head, calling back to Kassi, "Nothing new, no."

R'din quickly rejects as one of the helpers come his way with soap and wet cloths, shaking his head, "Give 'em to someone else, I'll be fine." He casts Rulana a studying eye, "Enjoy the quiet. You deserve it." He comments, looking around as he goes silent, raising an eyebrow in surprise at Luni's words to him. "He went *between*, I don't know where he is. Probably back at Igen."

Kyrola grins and offers her hand to Chayil in the formal way. "Ista would never have shirked her duty to her friends," she replies. "We were proud to fight alongside Igen," and then she nods to S'rist, "High Reaches, Fort," and she nods toward Draila and P'ter and those folks, "Telgar," she adds, her gaze taking in K'ran and Tarien, "and of course Benden." This time, the nod goes to the Benden Weyrleaders, a pair she doesn't know well, but clearly respects. "Quite honored indeed. Thanks for having us."

When in winter is the weather -not- a topic of conversation?

2006-06-28T19:25:17Z

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Pierron Gevra Claret
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

Gevra is sitting at a table near a hearth, eating her supper.

Claret walks into the cavern tugging absently at wet hair, much of which is still tangled, obviously having been combed through hastily. Abandoning any effort to fix her hair, though, she heads straight for the buffet table, and once her plate is full of food, she heads for a seat, smiling sunnily at Gevra. "Hullo! Mind if I join you?"

"Please do," Gevra says, and gestures to the seats nearby. "You took a bath after chores? I should have, but I couldn't face the idea of getting wet again, even with warm water."

Claret slips into a seat, setting her plate down with a hurried clatter. "Yup, took a bath. Usually I'd wait until after dinner, but I was on latrine duty today. Blegh," Claret spits out, demonstratively wrinkling her nose. "Don't much like the snow?"

Gevra rolls her eyes. "I had that duty the day of the Candidate Dinner. I certainly spent a lot of time soaking before that! Couldn't show up stinking..." She sighs and scoops up another bite of the fish. "My duty was dragon-cleaning today."

Claret eyes her food for a moment, trying to decide whether talk of latrines and stinking will put her off her dinner. Evidently the decision is that it will not, because she tucks in a moment later. "Well," she comments between mouthfuls. "Cleaning dragons isn't so awfully bad, is it? I like it better than a lot of the chores, because I'm perfectly useless at some things."

Gevra finishes her bite before answering. "Really? Candidates aren't usually given anything particularly complicated to do. Something that anyone can do without messing up too badly, is what I've heard said. Elsewhere. Telgar may be different." The only thing left on her plate is the tubers, which she pushes into a pile in one corner of her plate. "I prefer anything that's inside. Telgar is cold compared to South Boll."

"Yes, well," Claret begins. "They might not be complicated, but one can still be useless at them. I was asked to help with some mending, the other day, and I pricked myself a dozen times at least, and was absolutely unproductive. Being useless is -quite- an easy thing to accomplish, after all. At least, for me. My but you must be chilled straight through, if you're from Boll!" Claret exclaims, taking a breath only for a bit more food.

"I suppose that's true, and I suppose it depends on your upbringing as well. My foster-mother made sure I learned enough to do any basic chore that might be required of me," Gevra says primly then adds, "It is cold here, but I was raised at Fort. I think that has helped. Where were you raised?"

Claret regards Gevra, a slightly miffed expression crossing her features at her comments. "I was raised at the Woodcraft Hall. And that was cold enough, so I'm more or less used to it, though I'm still not overly fond of it." Remarks on upbringing and ability to do basic chores are left well enough alone, for the moment.

Gevra nods solemnly. "Woodcraft is a good Hall," she says. "Hopefully the weather will turn before the Hatching. I noticed that there'd been dragonhealers visiting the clutch; Have you heard if they've any idea about the date? Will it be soon?"

Claret gives her head an abrupt shake. "I don't know anything about it. But I'd think, if it were going to be soon, that they'd say something, right? I was up in the galleries about a sevenday ago, and Gay and D'mon were there, and they didn't say anything like that. And I guess they'd have some idea? Maybe not, though." Shrugging, Claret tacks on a belated, "Oh. Yes, Woodcraft is a good Hall. I think."

"The Hatching will be warm, at least," Gevra says. "Guess we'll have to put up with the cold until then. Whenever it is." She sighes and takes another bite of the tubers.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" Claret declares. "I guess it will be warm. Maybe winter will have passed by the time it comes around, but I guess I'll be here in the cold no matter what happens, so it doesn't make -too- much of a difference. Are you impatient for it?"

Gevra shrugs. "Waiting one place is no different than waiting in another," she says. "But I'd rather spend the time doing work I do well instead of work anyone, or mostly anyone, can do." She pushes the tuber around again before scooping another bite. "You?"

Claret adopts the miffed expression of a few minutes before. "Well... Yes, it is good to do work that you can do well. But chores are chores, no matter what. I suppose I'll be happy enough to have less of them, but I never get to choose what I do anyway. All I get to do is avoid the things I don't do well, and that's not terribly interesting," she concludes nonsensically, tugging absently at her ear as she speaks.

Velano walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Velano has arrived.

An old Auntie makes clucking noises at Pierron, "Poor dear, works so hard..."

"But I wasn't doing *chores* at Boll. I had work to do. Here," Gevra waves her hand to indicate the Weyr then sighs. "It's the cycle of a weyr, I know. I could have told Meara no and not come."

Gevra frowns and takes another bite of tubers.

Claret's eyebrows knit together as her expression turns increasingly confused. "Well... Yes, I guess you could have refused coming. You could always go home if you really wanted, couldn't you?" Making an effort to ban that confusion, Claret summons a cheerful smile, though the contents of her next words don't match it. "Me, I've always done chores. Chores and chores and more chores. I'm good at some things, of course, but not to do forever."

A butcher's arms are made strong from jointing and boning meat against the strain of massive muscle and firm tendon, and lucky it is, given that Velano's hefted an enormous gunnysack of something lumpy and too large to be slung on a shoulder. He carries it through the cavern with deliberate paces, peeking out from behind the burden to check for wayward chairs. He passes Pierron and a number of cooking staff before depositing the lumpen burden near the hearth, then straightens and wipes the back of his neck with a hand. "You'd think a little would be enough," he grins at the sack. Made warm by work, he then reverses course to find a cup of something cold to drink.

Gevra shakes her head, watching Velano lug something large across the room. "No, I'd rather stay than go back to Boll," she says, sounding like a martyr. "I can put up with the chores."

Claret watches Gevra with a steady expression before bursting into a giggle at her martyred tone. Covering her mouth with a hand to quell it, her face is wreathed in a smile. "Sorry," she says, before she takes note of Velano, sending a wave and an "Evening!" in his direction, should he notice through his trudging and drink searching.

Gevra's eyebrows snap together and she frowns disapprovingly. Apparently she does not appreciate being laughed at. Since Claret has turned her attention to Velano, Gevra takes a few more bites of her supper.

"Mmvng," Velano mumbles, though the wave accompanying it is far more hearty. He pours a cup of chilled water for himself, casting a longing look at even colder wine forbidden the candidates. Dumping a drip of klah into the glass, he turns toward the young women and greets, more properly after a short drink of the muddied but cold mixture, "Duties to you. May I join you?"

Gevra finishes her supper and stands, plate and mug in hand. "I you'll excuse me?" she says, then steps away before either Claret or Velano have a chance to respond.

"Yup!" Claret assents, waving her hand at any number of empty seats near them. "Please do," she adds, before Gevra's expression prompts a curious gaze and question. "Something wrong?" she asks obliviously, scooting her fork around in the midst of the food left on her plate. "Ooh. Nevermind then," she corrects as Gevra rise. "Goodnight!"

Gevra walks towards the inner cavern.
Gevra has left.

"Of cou --" But the butcher's attempt at a courtly, polite answer for a fast-departing woman is not quick enough, and he's left staring for a moment after Gevra's back. "Hm," he mentions. "Perhaps she's got duties, or doesn't feel well. How are you?" A lot of words between washes of a dry mouth, and he remedies the situation with a sip from the watered klah.

Claret screws her face up in puzzlement, looking after Gevra. "Well, she did get all frowny for a moment right before she left. Perhaps she wasn't feeling well. "I don't think she's got duties, though. Seems like she does everything she's supposed to when she's supposed to. I'm fine! Good, even. How're you?"

"Hot," Velano reports, grinning over the rim of his drink. "My last four carryloads were all inside. I'd been enjoying a few runs through the bowl most of the day." He settles belatedly into a chair drawn near with the toe of one boot, sighing as his weight redistributes into different joints for new soreness. "I couldn't have done the list before the main dinner call if I'd tried."

"Well, I'm glad it was you and not me!" Claret announces pleasantly. "Better to be hot than cold, anyway. Well, better to be hot in the winter than cold in the winter," she amends amicably. "What were you dragging around? Food? Looked a bit heavy. Is food that heavy? Guess it is," she answers for herself, poking at her dinner.

"Oh, that's fuel for the hearth, so the klah can stay warm. Which is exactly what I don't want at the moment," he grins before another sip. He leans back in the chair after, just as slouchily as he can without causing its foremost legs to rise off the ground, and drapes one elbow over the chair's back. "I hauled tubers, and before that some flat ol' rocks for the bakers. I have to ask Tobay what that's about," he notes as an inward aside, frowning faintly.

Claret gives an enlightened nod. "Oh! Well, that makes much more sense. If you don't want to be warm, how come you're drinking klah?" She leans over a bit to inspect it, ascertaining whether it is in fact klah. "Rocks, they're for rolling dough out, maybe? Or for chopping things? I used to cook, sometimes. How long did you haul for, anyway? Makes it sound like ages. I'm glad I haven't gotten stuck with that, yet!"

"I think they had a long list for me. Maybe it was someone like Amarie, just a little thing, with that duty yesterday, so there was leftover work," Velano grins. He unleans, pitching forward a bit in the chair to offer Claret a look at the muddied water in his cup. "Water, mostly, so it's cold, and a little klah as a pick-me-up," he explains. "Tobay says it's the foulest concoction, but I learned to drink it from my father. Used to it," he shrugs.

Claret wrinkles her nose as she looks at the contents. "Well, I like klah quite well, but I'm not sure I'd like it with lots of water mixed in! I guess that's the only way to make it colder quickly though, huh?" Sitting back herself, she starts to make headway finishing the rest of her meal. "That's rotten!" she declares. "Leftover work. Though I suppose it's just the same as any other work, really."

"Yeah, just more of the same," the butcher agrees with a nod, rising from the chair. "It's an acquired taste," he admits while eyeing the liquid in his cup, swirling it to remix the blend before taking a final swallow. "But as a little child, it was better than klah straight, for being weaker. And it's better yet with far too much sweetener," he confides.

Claret looks toward the klah, as if debating whether to get some for herself, now that the topic has been brought up. "When I was allowed to drink it, I added loads of sweetener, and that's how I like it. Now I don't have much sweetener, though. It feels all... Well, sweet," she finishes, waggling her tongue around in her mouth at the thought and crunching her eyebrows together. "It's best in the winter, I think."

"I'll take it any time it's not hot," Velano nods, "but I think we all outgrow some of the taste for sweet sooner or later." At nineteen, to be talking of how grown up he is -- only youth. The butcher flicks a shrug and notes, "I should bathe off some of the sweat before I try to find -- er, before -- before whatever's next," he finishes, then sighs a grin. "Never mind, that was ridiculous. But I should bathe anyway. Have a good evening, Claret." Finally free of words to stumble over, the butcher makes off for the inner caverns.

Velano walks towards the inner cavern.
Velano has left.

Players: Claret, I’sai, Julisin

Outer Infirmary
The large cavern appropriated for this room needed little embellishing. Large enough to house those few dragons who might be too injured to treat outside in the bustle of after-Fall or some other rare accident, it has two stone couches at one end, with permanent alcoves carved into the walls near them, ready to serve as beds for riders. No instrument tables or supplies are set near the couches, healers having learned the hard way how injured dragons sometimes thrash. One closed cabinet close-to and shielded by a screen holds the thin reeds for wing tears, and other surgery supplies. A row of cupboards and counters hold the other healing necessaries. A basin and a large fireplace lie in the room's center. Business goes on as calmly as it ever does in an infirmary. Drudges and weyrchildren with assigned chores move in and out through the passageways, keeping the fire stoked and warm, and attending to the cleanliness of the area.
A carved outcropping curves out towards the bowl, while a similar doorway, shielded by thick tapestry, leads towards the inner infirmary. A long tunnel leads towards the inner cavern, thick enough to shield the noise.

Contents:
I'sai
Dragonwing Diagram (DWD)

Obvious exits:
Inner Infirmary Inner Cavern Bowl

Julisin walks in from outside the room.
Julisin has arrived.

"What? I'm -telling- you, M'fraid, there's no way she's going to - _shells_," and on that note I'sai strides in from the bowl, the clatter of his boots diminishing considerably as he enters the Healer Zone.

Julisin is heading in from the inner cavern, his own soft footsteps echoed by Claret as they walk quietly through the Infirmary. Head down, shaggy blonde hair covering his eyes, Julisin walks briskly forward only stopping when he nearly bumps into I'sai. With a startled 'huh' exerted in surprise, Julisin falters stepping backwards. He nods his head politely towards I'sai, nodding, "Sir."

Tagging Julisin's steps, Claret nearly collides with him when he comes to a sudden halt. With an "Oomph," of her own, she steps back. "Say, Julisin, what was that fo--oh," she breaks off, seeing I'sai. "Hullo, sir," she greets, summoning up a bright smile.

I'sai easily sidesteps, himself, and he's about to walk right on by when Claret greets him; for her he'll slow, even stop. Voice lower than usual but no less crisp, "Getting late for you lot. Where're you off to? - Both of you," with an eye for Julisin. To him, "Hair in your eyes?"

Julisin shoots a glance back over to Claret, "Sorry, Claret.. I wasn't looking." He turns back to I'sai, lifting his chin up and reaching a hand to clear the strands of blonde from his viewpath. He nods in affirmation, "Yes, sir." Thin lips twist somewhat into a grimace, Julisin watching Claret's smile widen as she sees I'sai. He remains silent, though his eyebrows become close in obvious concentration.

Claret shrugs up her shoulders. "Oh, that's all right. I don't expect I'd have been too damaged if I'd actually hit you and fallen on the floor or something. We are in the infirmary, after all. We were going through to the bowl," she announces, turning to I'sai. "It is a bit late, isn't it? I hadn't really thought."

"If you Impress," I'sai tells Julisin lightly, "You'll need to cut that if you can't keep it out of your eyes on your own. And not make a face doing it, either." He tilts Claret a grin, and says, "Damaged, yes, but quickly repaired, hopefully. And aye. Bring a glowbasket if you're going far." He glances towards the inner infirmary as if gauging the healers' willingness to allow a little conversation, "How's everything going, for the both of you, anyway? Nervous yet?"

Yet again the thin and lanky Julisin finds himself nodding to I'sai, "Yes Sir." An offending piece of hair, as if on cue, swings back down in front of Julisin's ice blue eyes, the young man ignoring it for the moment. His keen attention is given to Claret, only paused to glance at I'sai and grimace once more at the grin Claret is offered. Stepping back a touch, Julisin finds himself a bench to lean on - reaching pale hands out to grasp the edges. At I'sai's next comment he only remarks, "Not yet."

Claret inspects said hair, her eyebrows scrunching for a moment before her expression clears. "I should hope I'd be repaired quickly. It would be quite a drag to go around with some sort of injury or other, and it would make chores a bit difficult, I'm sure. Not that that's entirely a bad thing," she allows. "Me, I'm not nervous. Only it's getting a little frightful, when people keep bringing up robes and so forth. Then I worry a smidgeon." Pausing to draw breath, she frowns thoughtfully in Julisin's direction. "Are you feeling quite the thing, Julisin? You seem a bit indisposed."

I'sai gives Julisin a slight, considering look - an equally brief nod - and adds that much more warmth to his pale eyes while listening to Claret's reply, for all that his mouth's crooked up at one corner with amusement more than anything else. And at the end - "Yes, do tell. Eat something that pained you at supper? And in the meantime, Claret, I'll do my best not to bring up robes. Or claws. Nothing like that. Wouldn't want chores to be more difficult, actually, since you still have to do them."

"Quite alright, Claret. Nothing a good rest won't cure." Julisin shrugs of his fellow candidate's question, grinning wryly at the 'indisposed' comment. I'sai is given a bit of a smirk, Julisin lifting his chin again somewhat, "I'm quite fine, actually." He shifts awkwardly, leaning his weight to one foot then the other a deliberately noisy shuffle. I'sai's attention towards Claret is noted, the candidate only bringing his arms up to fold the macross his chest, irritation flared in his eyes.

Claret blinks. And then blinks again. "Claws? I haven't heard much about claws. Is that something I should be particularly alarmed about? I daresay it is." Sighing ruefully, Claret turns to inspect Julisin again. "There, now you look a bit more in spirits." She nods in satisfaction before she amends, "Well, not really. Chores are a nuisance, but as they're supposed to be constructive, or something like that, I don't suppose I can complain."

That shuffling does draw I'sai's glance for a moment - but just that moment; that much more amused, "Two, three candidates bloodied at Ista, last time. I'm hoping it won't happen to -you-." Pause. "Either of you." - "Constructive is good, I suppose. Although you've had to do a lot of that already, not particularly new. Any questions, now that you're in the middle of it all? And where're you from, actually?" this last directed Julisin's way.

Julisin sniffs, "Ah, bloodied?" He nods again, only grinning over at Claret momentarily, "Ah yes." For her he'll grin. The smile fades slightly as he returns his gaze to the ground, "From Ista originally, though I've been travelling for the past few turns." He seems to become even more fidgety at this question, looking about the room in a feigned attempt to divert attention from himself.

Claret echoes, "Bloodied?" A vaguely concerned look on her face, she comments, "Oh dear. That's not very good. I hope it doesn't happen to me, too. Or to you," she allows graciously, inclining her head in Julisin's direction. "You're from Ista? I didn't remember that. I thought you were just that traveling but not really traveling person. Well, that's fascinating. I haven't got any questions," she tacks on.

"Gouged, probably scarred - blood on the sands, anyway. Two of 'em Impressed, one didn't, I think that's the tally," I'sai says with relish. "Ista, though - Weyr, Hold, smallhold? And whereabouts traveling?" Evasions? He cuts right through. "And, Claret - " with a nod for her lack of questions - "just dodge. Although it's tricky; some of 'em are faster than you think, even if you try. This is your first time on our sands, isn't it?"

I'sai has disconnected.

Julisin looks at I'sai, grinning wryly, "Well..." He begins to speak, only trailing off as his face seems to drain of color. His expression twists into one of a grimace, "Think something may have disagreed with me after all... Excuse me." The now fairly gren-looking candidate rushes towards the inner caverns, head down and hand to his stomach. I'sai jinxed him.

Julisin goes home.
Julisin has left.

In which weather, children as comestibles, and various other topics are discussed

2006-06-28T19:16:55Z

Candidate Picnic, Part 3

2006-06-28T03:30:53Z

Carlile giggles and hopes for more, eyes glued to the performance area. She automatically begins to chew on her sleeve, shoes shuffling in the snow, making it a murking brown color.

Kassima only laughs the harder at Jaleran's reaction--*and* Metri's--and Yash's--oh, shells, everyone's who seems amused. No point even trying to hide it now. "I'm so glad," she wheezes to her beloved bride. "M'soul would curl up and wither without you, sweetest love, how often have I told you?" At the end of the song, she stands again and draws herself up to full, not inconsiderably if not near Jaleran-sized height. "You two," she says ominously, "are so... so...." But she can't keep it up. A grin splits her face, and she starts applauding with gusto. "That was the *very best love song in the whole wide world*, and I'm in *tears* from the sweetness of it, I really am! Nay anyone could possibly have better illustrated our grand love, or how pretty Metri looks in a dress."

Niella waves, and moves back to her cot.

Metri is sent into another fit of laughter. "Aye, well, you look better in a dress than I ever will," Metri tells her through the wiping of real tears from his eyes. "Remember it like it was yesterday, sitting and pining away for you, and you no where in sight. I can't even believe how--" How what is lost to more laughter. "Me in a dress," he giggles through his hands.

Tobay's bolt from the platform is more slow than his Holdmates, but no less inspired. He makes the rounds of the dessert table, returning with a laden plate which is set on the table's center, though he avoids getting too close to the bride. "Pastries? They smell wonderful." No shame for Tobay; just a wide, silly grin. "Thank you, Wingleader, for indulging us. We're so proud to stand with Metri; you have no idea. Claret, Breena? Sourfruit tart?"

Carlile can't contain her giggling any longer. She bursts out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. Leaning forward, she shuts her eyes and stomps her feet. "Metri- in a- dress!" she gasps out. Wiping her eyes with her spare hand, she sighs and tries to take deep breaths to calm herself.

Jaleran's laughter breaks past the dam he put up during the song, and given that the great bellows coming from his lungs are echoing off even the far side of the bowl it's likely a good thing he was able to hold it in for the whole 'song'. When the first few bellows of laughter are out, he is able to soften his voice some, but his sides are still shaking with laughter as he turns to Metri, "Now why didn't you wear your dress here tonight if you look so good in it?" When Tobay sets the pastrie platter down on the table, he grins broadly and looks for a handful of sugar-dusted citron he spied earlier.

Claret stifles another giggle as she thinks of Metri in a dress, and nods toward Tobay. "That'd be lovely! Or some other kind of dessert. I didn't get any on my plate first time around." Reversing her nod into a rueful shake of her head, she comments, "You really oughtn't to be proud, you know, Tobay. Metri has the most -dreadful- habits. He eats greenriders, after all! I really don't think that's an acceptable diet, and it's got a terrible influence on his behavior." Finishing up solemnly, she turns a fascinated gaze on the tarts.

Velano, for his part, makes a second round of the beverages, substituting cider for wine in deference to his status, then fills a second plate of food, wherry and herdbeast and a couple of sweet rolls with butter. Of them, he starts making misfit sandwiches as soon as he sits down again, trying to reclaim his place at Breena's side if it's still available. "Had kind of a slim plate the first go," he notes, pleasantly red-faced.

Niella heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Niella has left.

Kassima looks pleased by the compliment. "Aye, well, that's just the sort of man I am," she assures her wife breezily. "So secure in m'masculinity that I don't mind wearing a dress now and then. But can you understand why I get so het up when you cheat on me with those Hold women, after I rode all over Pern for you?" She attempts big, sad eyes. They just don't work in these circumstances. "The indulgence is *completely* m'pleasure, you may be sure. And if'n you two do this sort of thing often--comic songs--we really must sit sometime and compare notes. Wouldn't you *like* t'see Metri in a dress?" she asks both Carlile and Jaleran. "Methinks he should go and get one and put it on *right now*, so he can wear it while he sings for us. Dessert sounds lovely." Her plate finally emptied itself somewhere along the line. She takes it with her as she rises and moves to investigate the sweet end of the table.

Breena smiles at Tobay, shaking her head, hand resting briefly on her stomach. "I've eaten too much already--but thanks for the offer." When Velano sits, she grins at him and repeats her earlier comment: "'You'll see,' indeed. Oh, the fruit was very good."

"Metri wouldn't look good in a dress," Amarie comes to his defense partly. Then she shares her reason why. "His hair is too ...mannish. He'd have to get a new style to go with the dress." She grins and then murmurs to Jaleran. "Lucky they didn't sing about you eh?"

Metri goes as serious as he can at Jaleran's question. "I didn't want to show up Gay or Amarie," says Metri gravely, even going so far as to frown. Which works for a whole three seconds before he grins at Claret. "I only ate them when we were in dire need of food. And I act completely...point taken." He clears his throat and, leaning in to whisper to Amarie and Jaleran, "If you two would be my bridesmaids, I'd not object to you braiding it." And he repeats, "No singing from me."

Yashira grunts. "He has the wrong hips, too."

Carlile giggles, "It'd still be funny," she says to herself.

Metri looks more injured at Yashira than anything else that could have happened. "I - are you calling me fat?"

Yashira snorts. "Addle-brain."

Tobay smiles blithely, still full of fool's cheer and beaming with mischievous impishness. The tray of sweets he'd loaded is offered in each direction, with those most interested getting a good chance to peek and snag desired objects. "I recommend the tarts wholeheartedly," he confides, "had about half a dozen of 'em earlier." A wink, then he catches on to the chatter around about Metri's clothing. "We could rag curl his hair? My sister knows how, she's done it to me. You sure you don't want to sing, Metri? Or maybe your bridesmaids would honor you instead?"

Jaleran nods gravely to Amarie, the attempt at solemnity ruined completely by the gleam in his eyes, now dancing almost pure violet in his good humor. "Oh, aye. They likely would've woken up sewn into their blankets, even if my sewing ruins more than it mends...*cough*" Metri's whisper causes him to choke back on his words to keep another laugh from booming out across the bowl. Instead, he manages to keep it down to a dull guffaw.

Aloan mirth lessens a bit to where he can actually see. He looks over at Metri and listens in on the conversation while draining the last of his cidar. It's a bit suprising, but he does yawn and get heavy-eyed. "night guys, I'm going to sleep." he directs to the remainder of the group.

Kassima turns from the table to try and eye the hips in question. "Well," she philosophizes, looking towards Yash, "nay anyone's wife is *perfect*, aye? Besides, you should see him swish 'em. Do it for her, lovey. Make her swoon." She claims a very small tart from the table. "Will you wear a dress if'n we *don't* make you sing? I could live with that bargain. Oh, Jaleran, what's funny?" She grins and wiggles her fingers in a wave to Aloan, bidding, "G'night; sleep well!"

"I couldn't have /told/ you," Velano excuses himself to the blonde, apologetic tones spoiled by pure mischief in his dark eyes, belied in turn by the shade of his face. "It would have spoiled the surprise." To Metri, taking up Tobay's suggestion and stepping a pace farther with it, he suggests, "Hey! You could dance. All that hip swishing," he explains with a shrug, flashing a smile at Kassima.

Claret sends a dubitable sigh in Metri's direction. "That's what you say! But as you agree, your behavior is a testament to something else entirely." Grabbing up a tart, she suggests, "And maybe ribbons for his hair, too? That might help." She raises a hand to send a small wave after the departing Aloan. "You could sing and dance," she allows.

"I would love to be an attendant at your wedding Metri," Amarie smiles and plays along with the game. "I'll wear my best dress." She promises this. Since her food is done she pulls her black mittens back on hands that are white and trembling with cold. She peers at the desserts offered before selecting a fruit.

Yashira waves a hand. "Where did all this 'wife' stuff come from, anyway?"

Pulling his cloak about it and raising the hood, Aloan heads off across the bowl.

Aloan heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Aloan has left.

Metri, letting his quick responses lull for a good time, simply stares for a moment. There's a grin, and he says, "I would actually wear a dress if I didn't have to sing." The words are out of his mouth before he actually thinks them through, and when he does he promptly ducks his head to hide the blush that rises in his cheeks. All other responses to any of his previous comments are ignored for the sake of muffling his laughter and attempting to crawl under the table and die.

"I didn't say you should have," Breena returns, grinning, though she's a bit wide-eyed again at the idea of Metri dancing. "Mmm. If I was afraid at hearing the song, I'm flat out petrified of *that*, I have to say. Though...I should probably start back to the barracks, too. I have to take my hair out of this silly braid still." She offers a shy smile to the pair of performers and adds softly, "You're far braver than me, I wouldn't have been able to do that." Raising her voice again, she smiles at the other Candidates. "Back to chores tomorrow, I guess. Good night."

Kassima beams at Velano. And Claret. These are suggestions with which it would seem she finds favor. "--Wait, wedding? We're having a wedding? Oh, shells. Does this mean I need t'go put trousers on or something, or does m'sheer masculine virility still manage t'radiate through this gown?" She gestures down at her decidedly non-masculine, non-virile get-up and self. "Long story of sorts, Yash. We were talking by the Lake one day, and... y'know, I'm nay sure exactly *how* we ended up married. But methinks he's carrying m'child now. I can't be sure because he tends t'lie about it when really he's just getting fat on bubblies. You *would*?" Funny how fast her attention swings back to Metri at that. "--Oh, g'deve t'you too," she wishes Breena, smiling. "Dream sweet, and nay of terrifying dances."

"It's lovely," Velano informs Breena, suddenly quite serious. "You've been stunning tonight." He is silent a moment, then, ears reddening, rises from his seat as she prepares her leave.

Carlile goes into a fit of giggles again, hoping Metri will put on a dress, but also very afraid that he's so crazy that he actually /would/. Her nose has turned pink in the cold, and rosy cheeks blow on her freezing hands, creating a foggy cloud.

Metri says "look carli"

Claret sends another goodnight wave after Breena, adding a smile this time before she breaks into a belated realization. "A wedding! Oh, that's grand! Now's absolutely perfect, since everybody is already dressed up and there's a feast and decorations and... Um. Who's getting married?" That immaterial question being left for last, she waits expectantly for some kind of answer, snatching another tart while she does so.

Yashira groans, shaking her head. "I can't take anymore. I'm gonna head back to my weyr."

Tobay smiles toward Amarie as she picks a sweet, and he releases the tray, instead stoking the fire further and missing Aloan's exit. "That should warm things up a little bit," he reassures, adding wood from the pile to encourage the flames to grow. "Not like a few blushes around here aren't doing the job already." He eats a few of the sugary treats from the tray, popping mini-tarts into his mouth whole, though he does peer sideways at Metri, sincerely checking if the youth is all right. "Too bad we're forbidden from drink," he observes. "It would warm us up from the inside. Instead, we just have to torment each other. Thank you, Metri, for your good humor. I'll remember your offer...and, ah, wedding? Now? We've a stage for it." Shrug. "I'm just a harp. I can witness."

"I'll try, ma'am, thank you," Breena says wryly to Kassima, then she blushes, hearing Velano's soberly-offered comment. "Thank you." She fidgets a moment after getting to her feet, unsure, then settles on offering a vaguely embarrassed smile. With one last wave for the assembled, she heads out, glancing over her shoulder a time or two as she goes.

Breena heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Breena has left.

"I didn't say that out loud. No dress on me." Metri clarifies to Kassima. Rather than continuing on that track (and hoping Kassima will drop it), he swipes a sweet from Tobay's tray before it's set away, and then watches the other candidate stoke the fire. With much more interest than it's technically due. "Our wedding, of course!" Metri says, looking hurt. "We're renewing our vows, and you /forgot/? I don't know why I ever--" And he throws half of his tart at her. With feeling.

Having seen the fair maiden off, Velano sinks into his seat once more, setting to on his plateful of second course while casting a friendly glare in Tobay's direction. Between wherry and herdbeast steaks, he notes, "That'll stain."
*Notes, for Metri and Kassima's benefit, it should be clarified.

Kassima tries the sad eyes again towards Yashira. "Aww, Yash, don't you want t'be here on m'big day? If'n that's what's going on. I'm still nay really su--ack! Ma'amed!" She cringes. "Must get the word out better about that. Anyway. Methinks 'tis me and Metri, but I'm really nay sure. Mayhaps Velano and Tobay are marrying each other, after discovering they sing in such perfect harmony? Regardless, I still want t'see Metri in a dress." Drop it? Oh, yeah, that'll happen. "You did so! 'Twas nigh on a *promise*! And you--aigh!" Let's hear it for rider reflexes, because she manages to dodge the tart--it goes smacking into the tray of tri-tip instead. "Eww," she observes. "*Nay* throwing food at me until I'm wearing something less expensive. I didn't *forget*, I just thought we'd been planning, y'know, more of a private ceremony... but if'n you want t'renew with everyone in attendance, why...."

Carlile says aloud, "I thought riders couldn't marry," to herself, not taking the least bit og interest in the food.

Amarie smiles at Velano, noticing the teasing between holdmates. "Velano you look very ...fru-fru this evening," she winks at the butcher across the table giggling. To his holdmate Tobay she offers a friendly smile and a "Thank you for dessert." She eats her dessert with mittened hands. She's starting to shiver a bit more, teeth chattering.

Yashira snickers, waves, and heads off.

Yashira heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Yashira has left.

Jaleran looks over at Amarie, concern filling his face as she looks to be every bit as cold as he, but without the added insulation his size gives him. He reaches an arm around the back of her chair, leaning close out of concern, "Amarie, are you ok? We could stoke the fire s'more and you could move your chair closer to it. Or we could get you in by the hearth fire with some hot soup or cider to warm up your insides." His voice is low with some worry, hoping the concern in it won't carry over the general gleeful sounds around him.

Claret adopts an enlightened expression at Kassima's explanation. "Oh! I see! That's very romantic. I think. Metri, you know, if you've gone to all this effort to plan a renewal of your wedding vows, you ought to at least dress up nicely, don't you think? I never saw a wedding where the bride wasn't at least wearing a gown." Prodding Metri with this decided observation, hugging her arms to her before directing a concerned gaze at Amarie, echoing Jaleran. "Are you feeling quite all right? You look very cold."

Tobay makes short work of a slice of sweetened grain topped with redfruit, savoring the molasses-like sugary topping that holds the mess together. Once it is dispatched, he waves belatedly to Breena's exit, then looks with concern to Amarie, echoing Jaleran and Claret's fretting, "You do look awfully cold. Do you have a warmer coat? I mean, you look very nice in that dress, what I can see of it, but you seem c--me? Marry Velano?" Blink blink. "I thought he hated my guts and wanted to break the whole thing off. I'm so depressed I need another tart."

Carlile yawns, and decides that it's too late for a story anyhow. "G'night!" she mutters as she rises and trudges down to the Bowl.

"At least you waited for her to call it a night before you said it. I have to give you credit for that," Velano sighs with a little too much drama, but pauses in his self-concern to eye Amarie warily. "Maybe we should gather up the food and head in?" He leaves off eating long enough to lean back and shake loose the tucked-in cuffs of his sleeves, which obligingly fall out into all of their loose, embroidered glory. "Like something a harper would wear. Maybe a girl harper," he snorts good-naturedly. "If you snare one as a match, Tobay, I'll lend it her," he informs his travelmate with all due seriousness, which is to say, none.

Carlile has left.

"Nay, I did not!" Metri counters Kassi shortly after eating the rest of the tart. Enough food wasted, especially on a miss that landed in the tri-tip. He seconds her, "Eww," and declares, with all the heart-felt misery of a woman whose husband has forgotten her, "You forgot, I can tell! Don't you try to pass it off like it's my fault, you lazy...GRR!" He could even be mad, were it not for the flicks of the corner of his mouth. Claret's comment earns a menacing glare. "If one day I get in a dress - for the sake of fun and not because I've any tendencies towards crossdressing - it won't be because I'm renewing vows with that lug." And he nods towards Kassima. "Aye, Tobay, that's what it said. 'I hate your stinking guts, you make me vomit, scum between my toes. Whole mess." When it comes to heading inside, he's got not commenting it seems, however much he's waiting for thier verdict.

Kassima claps at a sudden thought. "A'course you marry Velano! We could have a *double* ceremony. Perfect, 'twould be. The Weyr would talk about it for generations." She attempts to look starry-eyed at the thought. "We could hold it in the Living Cavern where 'tisn't quite so bloody freezing. Who'd wear the dress in that case? You or Velano?" After an expectant glance between them, she waves after the departing Carlile, too late. "I *didn't* forget! In fact, that lovely ballad Velano and Tobay sang... I, um, arranged that with them. Right. As a wedding gift t'you. Help me out here," she hisses in more of a stage-whisper than real whisper to the musicians in question.

Kassima adds brightly, "Jaleran and Amarie could be attendants for both of us! And Claret, you could perform the ceremony, right? This is working out just perfectly."

"N-no, I'm f-fine," Amarie's teeth are chattering slightly. She puts her arms arms around her holding her hands to her shoulders. She kicks her boots on the ground and says, "I j-just c-can't f-feel my f-feet anymore." She stamps her boots on the snow. "I-I'll b-be your att-ttendant M-Metri." She bites her lip to stop the stuttering that her teeth are causing. "M-maybe we c-could move c-closer to the f-fire?" she asks Jaleran.

Tobay looks up with piqued interest from his one true love, dessert. "Yeah, lucky you, Vel. Do you see any around here? Girl harpers, I mean. I understand they're probably patient enough to put up with me. Deal; that's a nice shirt, too. Keep it clean for her, eh? At least," a renewed scratch of his head, "While you're not vomiting while thinking of me, ok?" Looking again at Jaleran and Amarie, he hmms thoughtfully. "Maybe the double wedding could include Jaleran and Amarie? After all, I'm promised to Dianneth. Well. Kinda." A few blinks as he registers the various impossibilities there.

Claret wiggles a chastising finger at Metri. "That's -hardly- in the spirit of marriage, you know. Isn't that supposed to be very amicable? That's not a very amicable sentiment, you know," she informs him. "I haven't ever performed a wedding ceremony before, but I can try! Oh, a double wedding? That's even better! Maybe something really warm to drink would help, Amarie?" Stringing each comment in rapid succession after, she proffers a tart. "Or perhaps a pastry?" Because that's helpful.

Metri takes his turn to look starry-eyed. "All this 'cause of me?" he asks dreamily. "I could just /kiss/ you!" Unfortunately, it's not allowed. Damn that knot! He successfully avoids showing any indication to hearing her stage whisper, but Amarie's chattering is his next attention-grabber. "Hey, Am, you can't be anyone's attendant if you're footless. Don't you get sick," he warns her. "I can't have that, who'll console me the next time Kassima disappoints me?" Tobay gets a look. /The Look/. "How 'bout a quadruple wedding where you marry Velano and one bride becomes a groom to another bride half-way through?" He could be drunk

"I still think going inside is not wholly a bad plan," Velano muses, polishing off the last bite of a herdbeast-on-sweetroll sandwich designed by himself. He swallows some of his cider, then rises with mug and platter in hand. "I hope there's drudges assigned to clearing this. It's a bit much for a handful of candidate-cicles to carry." After losing his used dishes among others on a table with no one left sitting at it, he returns, shrugging out of his jacket. Doing so seems to make him immediately cold, but he stifles a shudder of chill and holds the lined hide garment out, not to Amarie but Jaleran. In case instruction is needed, he adds, "Wrap her in it?" Directly, he adds, "Get warm enough to walk and we should go in." A belatedly blank expression is shot at Metri. "I think I got lost in there."

"I don't think," Kassi says, dubiously, "that you could really marry Dianneth. Though if'n you went through the ceremony? I for one would *love* t'be seeing it. A'course for you, m'dearest berry-tart!" she assures Metri, dripping sucrose everywhere. "...Wait a moment. You've been getting *consolation*? Oh, now, that just tears it. I'm nay renewing vows with an *unfaithful* wife!" She stomps her foot; the snow creaks. "--I don't think Candidates have t'do the clean-up," she asides more seriously. "And I admit, I'd welcome more warmth m'self." She scoops up her fur cape from where it was, in her prior seat, and wraps it around her shoulders, shaking her hair out of the way.

Jaleran just nods briefly to Amarie before he slips his second arm down under her chair and lifts the whole arrangement of chair and shivering Amarie up from the ground. He sets her to the ground again just off downwind of one of the larger fires so she gets the heat but not as much smoke. "Here you go. And here," He slips off his thick coat and moves to set it over top of her as a blanket. "This will help, as well." To avoid protests about what he'll do, he sits down right next to her chair so he, too is getting windblown warmth from the fire.

Tobay picks up on Velano's subtle hints, taking a few more pastries on a smaller plate and piling them atop each other, holding them in place with some care, stomping his boots to warm his own feet. "Going in sounds wise, especially for the coatless valiants. Oh!--Nah, Dianneth favors me at the moment cause Miss Yselle is carrying her little one and isn't up to crawling around to scratch itchy whims. I doubt she'd consent to that. Ohhh, but I'm glad to hear we're not on gather cleanup; we made a mess."

"Not that consolation, you twit!" Metri says sharply, watching Velano and agreeing, "If we don't go in, someone's going to be sick in the morning." He directs this more at Jaleran and Amarie than anyone, surveying his own thin jacket with some remorse. "Of course, I had to borrow my outfit, and the cheapskate gave me the thinnest thing he had." It ensues that Metri cranes his neck to survey who remains at the table, perhaps to get said cheapskate.

Hmph. Well, Jaleran's coat /is/ rather larger than Velano's, and the Lemos butcher's all too happy to put his own back on for his own benefit. "Which is never a surprise with us at the tables," he muses in dry response to Tobay's remark. "Unfortunately, I don't think I can stand being out here next to the food another second. My stomach might explode if I even think about another tart." Beat. "Other than Metri." At the named candidate, Velano attempts a beam of a grin.

Claret pulls her coat around her, scooting back as in her seat at the suggestion of going indoors. "It'd be just too bad if you didn't have feet any more," she puts forth with a sententious nod. "Really too bad. I'm glad we don't have to clean up! That's a nice little break from chores." Frowning between Kassima and Metri, she gives a sigh of disappointment over the prospect of no wedding. Considering the others available, though, she brightens, even as she shivers convulsively at the repeated mention of the cold.

Amarie shrieks when once more, she's pirated off by Jaleran. "Jal!" She covers her head with her hands and once she's on the ground near the fire she peeks at him from between her fingers. "You keep pirating me," she accuses, although her voice holds no scolding, more amusement than anything else. She glances at Velano and says, "Thank you for the offer Velano." As Jal's coat is laid on her she says to him turning her face to look upon him, "You're going to catch sick if you stay out here in the cold." Even if there is a warm fire which is helping. Her chattering ceased fire within moments of being near the warmth.

Kassima mutters, with a darkness that's probably mostly if not entirely feigned, "I *might* have loaned you m'cape if'n you hadn't called me a twit just now. C'mon--let's make a break for the indoors, whether anyone's getting married or nay. Telgar in high winter just isn't friendly t'formal dress." Comprehension dawns when Tobay explains; she nods, though she seems half-disappointed. "Pity. It really would have been something t'see...."

Metri says "Insults left and right," looking between Kassima and Velano with mocking scorn that refuses to touch his eyes. "Can't believe it," he mutters, scooting his chair and driving to his feet. "Woah," and he's back down. "My feet are numb. No wonder I wasn't feeling cold." A few stomps here, and another for the road, and he attempts it again. He manages to stay upright, and walks a small circle about his chair, no doubt to get the feeling back. "Lead the way, oh brave man-o'-mine!""

Jaleran nods to Amarie, not trying to hide that he's feeling the chill even downwind from the fire, "Then once you've had a chance to get some warm in you from the fire, I'll pirate you back down to the caverns where we'll both have plenty of warm." He puts action to words by scooting a bit closer to the fire to build some heat up for the run, making sure to sweep back his long vest from getting singed.

Tobay and his tray of treats (but not tarts!) begin the journey across the ice and toward the warmer rooms. "Chores. Yes. More tomorrow, I'm sure. Ohhh," he grins toward Kassima, "I bet it would have been. She'd honor me, truly, but alas, her heart belongs to Yselle." One last look is given to the layout, considering any other items to store for late-night-snacks. Satisfied, he nods again, "That it isn't. Freeze the--freezing. Ahem. Thank you, everyone, for the pleasure of your companies this evening. Glad no ears bled at our efforts to do Moreta justice. Shall we forth?"

"Moreta who?" asks the butcher's son with guileless wonder, given over after a spare breath's time to stifled chortling. "Couldn't get away with that with any ranking harper present," he murmurs to himself, then turns to raise a hand in wave to those yet present. "Come on," he urges, "You stay out here you'll have ice for toes and the healers'll be on us all for it." This said, Velano heads for the bowl.

Amarie stands up from her chair. The smile on her face shows that Jaleran has slowly been growing on her. She takes his coat off and stamps her feet in the snow to get feeling back in them. Moving towards him, she attempts to drape his coat over his shoulders. Not an easy feat since he's over a foot and several inches taller than her. "Let's go ahead and walks to the caverns with Metri and Kassima," she suggests having overheard several people mentioning going there.

"Believe it or nay," offers Kassima, rueful, "live here long enough and you'll get *mostly* used to the cold. Mostly. May I offer you escort, m'sweet?" She extends her right arm out of the warmth of the cape in profferal to Metri; then, "Aye, but if'n she *married* Yselle, I for one would be nay end of disturbed. You don't want t'marry me, d'you, Lyss?" From the dragon's direction comes a soft snort. "See? I am all for forth, and the sallying thereof."

Claret rises from her seat as well, enthusiastically stamping her feet in large, exaggerated motions to get circulation running through her legs. Chafing her hands in her pockets to warm them up too, she carries on her vigorous motions, making tracks to follow up toward the bowl and the warmth of the weyr. "Dragons getting married?" Claret asks, looking skeptical. "I never knew." That's a bit further beyond the limit, after all.

"Sometimes, you still win me over," Metri says with his best 'I'm-taken!' face. He takes Kassi's arm all for the sake of fun, and then, for even more fun, swishes his hips. And continues while they walk. It's brilliant hip-swishing.

Jaleran is sitting just now, however, which makes the coat-draping a much easier thing. He nods to her with a soft smile on his face, then stands up, slipping his arms into the coat as he rises. "That sounds like a good plan." He offers Amarie his arm in a slightly more companionable, less formal manner, using his other hand to pull the chair back from the fire a safe distance.

Tobay heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Tobay has left.

Kassima says serenely, "That's because I'm a sensitive sort of man, y'know," and heads Bowl-wards, swishing her hips roughly in time. A shame the skirts, hair, and cape all make the swishing less than effective.

Kassima heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Kassima has left.

Velano heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Velano has left.

Metri heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Metri has left.

You head in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.

You walk south.

You walk past the lintel and into the wide living cavern.

Telgar Weyr's Living Cavern(#750RDJM$)
This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the late meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it. Branches of evergreens and glistening winter berries are ornaments of the season.
A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.

Contents:
PLAYERS: Kassima Pierron Tobay Claret Metri
OTHER: Telgar Serving Tables

Obvious Exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl

Amarie walks in from the bowl.
Amarie has arrived.

Jaleran walks in from the bowl.
Jaleran has arrived.

Kassima sighs upon reaching the haven of warmth. For once, she doesn't even afford Pierron any rude faces or gestures. "The dinner was lovely," she says, "and the food wonderful, and the ice sculpture beautiful... but I'm nay sorry t'be back indoors, all the same. Feeling any better, Amarie?"

Jaleran walks in with Amarie in Kassima and Metri's wake, his mouth split in a wide, jaw-dropped grin at the two of them hip-wiggling the whole way back. "Those two /must/ practice that when no one's looking." He shakes his head at the pair of them while gently but firmly hinting that Amarie should be heading towards the hearth and the fire blazing in its depths. He looks to her with the same question Kassi asked on his own mind.

Metri, hanging on Kassi's arm as though that might be all keeping him upright despite complete sobriety, shivers even as they enter the warmth of the caverns, probably something to do with the temperature change. "Aye, we practice every evening, when no one's watching." Releasing the greenrider, he bangs one foot on the wall, and then the other foot, clearing it of snow that is clinging with determination to the soles. He turns to Amarie at Kassima's question, brows raising in a seconding (or thirding) of the question.

Claret continues stomping her feet as she enters the cavern, not yet making a move to peel off any excess layers. "You practice every night? Really? What a terribly interesting way to spend your evenings. It must be very productive. You do look like a more harmonious pair that way, after all." She edges toward the fire herself, fourthing the question by sending an inquiring gaze in Amarie's direction.

Amarie blushes at being under the scrutiny of all three. "I'm not going to die!" she declares. She takes the hint and heads over to the hearth after stomping her own boots free of snow. She grins at Metri and Kassima saying, "That dancing walk was very hilarious. Where'd you begin to learn that?" She strips her mittens off, her hands still shaking some from the cold. She holds them out to the fire, fingers chalk white from blood thinning while outdoors.

Kassima lifts her skirts enough to stomp her own feet once her arm is free. She's wearing riding boots, and they look rather incongruous peeping out from filmy sisal and velvet. "You just never know," she agrees, sageness itself, "when you're going t'need the skill of synchronized hip-swishing. Sadly, Claret, 'tis about all we do that's harmonious... why don't all of you settle in by the hearth and I can fetch klah and cider and such? If'n anyone has room left in their stomachs even for drinks, after all that fare."

Jaleran grins at Amarie's reaction to the fussing, then nods to Kassima. "That sounds like an idea. I'll help carry since I'm likely to drain at least a pitcher or two of the hot cider myself to melt the ice that's creeped into my belly." Not one to sit and be waited on by a greenrider, even if it is supposed to be a chore-free day, he starts towards the night hearth and kitchen to help collect drinks.

"Well, we hardly need three people to carry four mugs of cider," Metri decides. That is the way of shirking. He instead (swishing all the way) perches himself on one of the tables and watches Amarie. "Well, you'd better not die," he warns her sternly. "Otherwise I'd have no one to teach the wonders of our hip swishing, cause the kids are refusing to listen to their dear ol' ma and learn the ways." He shakes his head. "They take after thier father," he says, jerking a finger at Kassi.

Claret nods enthusiastically. "Klah--or cider--would be just the thing to warm us all up. To warm me up, anyway. From the inside out, and then the fire from the outside in. At least for me. If you need help fetching it, I can too." Switching topics, she gives a forlorn sigh. "That seems just too true. But!" She brandishes a finger. "It's marvelous that you two can do something harmonious, especially something so impressive."

Amarie tosses a grin at Metri and says, "Why don't you teach Claret?" She nods her head at the other candidate. "She might decide that hip swishing is a useful thing." She holds her hands out to the fire and smiles at Claret. "Can you believe how cold it is out there? It's one thing to go out and play in it, another to sit at a table for nearly three hours listening to introductions."

"Suit yourself," says Kassi, but with a wry, quick grin. "I don't mind, but I won't say nay t'help either." She investigates the pots available on the night hearth; eventually she finds one of each, and brings them to the table the others have claimed. Mugs she leaves to Jaleran. "D'you really want our children swishing their hips?" she asks Metri. "Y'know what would happen then. *Boys* would start hovering around. And lasses too. And then we'd never get a moment's peace. Don't fret it, Claret--hah, and thankee. But just wait 'til I teach him synchronized knife-throwing."

Jaleran gathers up mugs for everyone, with the addition of filling another pot with pitchers of cold cider (of various flavors) that he can put next to the fire to heat up. He sniggers to the talk about hip-swishing classes. Then, as he's passing mugs around to everyone, his ears perk up, "What's this about knife throwing?" There is a flash of interest as he sets the back-up cider near enough to the fire to warm and finds a seat for himself.

"Of course, if Claret wants to learn," Metri says, turning on the table to peer into the pots Kassi brought, and then dropping into the nearest chair. Metri's interest is much the same as Jaleran's when it comes to knife throwing, and he swipes up a mug and fills it with klah. "Knife throwing?" he asks. Who cares about the kids?

Claret makes her way toward a seat, though she doesn't yet sit down, still stomping her feet, though the energy of the motion has waned slightly. As the mugs and drinks already seem to be taken care of, she doesn't make a move to help. Instead, she looks to weigh Amarie's suggestion carefully before wrinkling her nose. "I don't know how well I'd fare at that particularly endeavor, though of course, if you'd like to go around teaching it, that's fine. But knife-throwing! That's even more handy."

Kassima's brows jump up. "This is an uncommon level of interest," she quips. "Aye, knife-throwing. One of m'oldest and favorite hobbies. I'm nay too poor at it; won a contest at Bitra, once. I've taught Candidates a'fore... though 'twas proddy, then. I tend t'be even fonder of knives than normal, proddy. You'd want t'learn?" She addresses that towards all of them.

Amarie continues to hold her hands out to the fire until Jaleran returns with mugs of cider. She accepts hers with a pleasant, "Thank you Jaleran." She sits down near him and holds her boots out towards the fire to warm her feet up. "I entered a knife throwing contest at High Reaches once," she tells Kassima. "I did not win at all." She makes a face about it.

Jaleran's ears redden a bit at Amarie's thank-you. Then he smirks at Kassi's reaction to the knife lovers around her. "I'd be more interested in learning good ways to dodge them, but yeah." He reaches up with one hand to scratch at a spot on his right shoulder. "I've gotten throwing lessons here and there, but nothing serious. I tended to forget it all with the hangover."

"Of course," Metri says, with a little lack of excitement due to yawning. He hides it behind the mug as best he can, taking another large gulp of the brew in an attempt to jump start himself. "Jaleran can dodge them and I'll throw 'em," he decides at Jaleran's comment. Another yawn, another gulp.

"I should like awfully to learn, too," Claret adds in. "I use knives all the time, of course, but I've never done much throwing of them. I think it would be grand, and very practical if you run across someone you don't like very much. Not, of course, that one goes throwing knives at everyone they don't like. That wouldn't be sensible. I suppose knives are just thrown at things, not people."

Kassima makes an amused face. "I don't think *dodging* them is something I can teach you. The 'Reaches had a contest? Shells, I must've missed that one. I haven't competed save for bets between Wingmates and the like in awhile." She wraps her fingers around a mug of cider. "Learning drunk is *certes* nay a good idea. Well... if'n you're truly interested, I might be able t'give pointers sometime, if'n you have the time and chores done and all. I don't promise, mind. It sounds like more of your time is going t'be eaten soon, if'n in a very good way--Gay did say the egg-touchings will start soon." Claret gets first a wary look, then an emphatic nod. "I'm nay saying there's never a call t'throw knives at a person. But nay because you don't like 'em, or they've made you angry. Only in defense of your life or someone else's." There's a pause. Her ears redden. "Nay, ah, that I haven't broken that rule m'self--when proddy, again. In m'dubious defense, I hit exactly what 'twas aiming at, which is t'say the floor an inch away from from a foot or so. But you really shouldn't do that."

Metri laughs tiredly, shaking his head. "Well...if we're to be busy soon, it's time for me to head off." He knocks back the rest of the klah, making a bitter face, and then stretches back in the chair with a groan. "Tiiired," he complains to the ceiling before pushing the chair back out, placing his mug in the proper place, and saying, "G'night, m'dear, Claret, Jaleran, Am. Tomorrow." And he gives a not-so-snappy salute to them all before ducking into the inner caverns.

Metri walks towards the inner cavern.
Metri has left.

Amarie calls after Metri, "Good night Metri!" She sips at her cider and then says, "I don't think I'm too long to bed myself." She hides a yawn. The combating heat and cold have made her tired.

Jaleran waves vaguely back to Metri as he's on his way out. He smirks at Kassima, "Sure, now you tell me not to learn things drunk." But the remark is broken by a yawn that escapes his volume control, causing a mild roar that echoes briefly. He blinks his eyes clear and grins, "Or when this tired. But I'll take you up on that offer of lessons one of these days." He drains his mug and refills it from the pot of mixed ciders he set by the fire to heat up. "Guess it is time for sleep, although I'm not looking forward to latrines tomorrow." He glances around, "Anyone have tunnelsnake hunting duty they'd be willing to trade? Anyone?"

Claret removes her hands from her pockets to pour a mug of klah, finally seating herself, regarding Jaleran thoughtfully and catching the yawn. "Is it more difficult for you to dodge things, being very, very tall? Though it's to be hoped, of course, that you don't normally have things thrown at you." Pausing for a moment to wave after Metri, she agrees with Kassima. "Well, naturally. I wouldn't like to throw a knife at anybody, it wouldn't be very nice, after all. But it would be comforting to know I -could-. I expect I'd like it best without thinking of people at all. Say! I was warned about proddy riders throwing knives in the steam baths, or something like that, when I first came here. Maybe that was you?"

Amarie shakes her head. "I think I've got firestone," she says to Jaleran. "At least that's what I had last time I finished my stores duty." She sets her half drunk mug of cider down saying, "We should probably get to bed. It is getting later in the evening and we wouldn't want to be sleepy tomorrow." Ever the mothering type.

"G'night, Metri," Kassi sing-songs after him. "I'm going t'hold you to that offer t'wear a dress! Shells, missed--I hope he heard me." She leans back in her chair in a comfortable slouch. "I'm probably nay either. 'Twill have t'get out of this rigamarole a'fore I can sleep, and I really should check on Kiss and Kazy and Kai. 'Twas a good dinner, though, wasn't it?" Jaleran gets a nod and a low chuckle. "Who *does* look forward t'latrines? If'n there's any such person, methinks I fear them. G'night, both of you." To Claret, "There is a certain reassurance in the ability t'defend yourself, I find--me? Shells. Might've been. Who said it; what'd they say?"

Jaleran shrugs at Claret's comment about hoping he doesn't get many sharp things thrown at him. He doesn't say whether he has or hasn't been in that situation a lot, but he does rub at that shoulder again. Kassima's remarks about latrines gets a wry nod, then he's on his feet after Amarie's goading towards the barracks. "We're going, we're going. But like Kassi said, I've got to get out of these clothes and get them stored away first. They're too new to risk them getting ruined in another barracks pillow-brawl." He's grinning the whole time he says this. Maybe someone told him what happened the last time, the one he slept through.

Claret knits her brows together, trying to remember as she sips her klah, wrapping her fingers around the mug to warm them up. "I can't remember. I just remember, on more than one occasion, hearing warnings about proddy riders in the steam baths, or proddy riders throwing knives. That sort of thing. Maybe it was Yselle? I mean, the Weyrsecond. Or... I think it might have been one of the riders that had just graduated from Weyrlinghood a couple months before. Anyway," Claret winds up, taking another gulp of klah and yawning again. "I guess we will be dreadfully busy, so I really ought to get to sleep. Goodnight!" That abrupt and cheerful farewell having been dispensed with, she rises, finishing off her klah, and heads out of the cavern.

Amarie suddenly blushes as Jaleran brings up that brawl. "Ahem.." She coughs to cover her embarrassment. "I'm going to bed." She rushes off looking quite scandalized about something.

Candidate Picnic, Part 2

2006-06-28T03:30:27Z

Niella seems to be getting dizzy with all the arrivals and talk of ice and food and fire lizards. She just tries to focus on the food, and smile at everyone. "Hello Weyrleadyer" she says, respectfully, finally coming into focus on who has arrived.

Breena's still apologetic as she looks between Velano and Tobay, then she grins at Claret, nodding her agreement. As Juliri stands and claps, she balances her plate on her knees and looks over, curious, quiet.

Jaleran shrugs noncommittedly to Gevra's response, "Could be." He smiles to the other candidates as they start making their ways to chairs, then nods to Metri. "I think Kassima is trying to line up a whole list of singers. She has you on after Tobay and Velano." He pauses as Juliri claps for attention, looking up towards the rider's tables for what's coming next.

Kassima slants Tobay a disturbed look. "Pretend t'be a harp? So, what, someone plays you? Are you sure that's *allowed* for a Candidate?" She's all confused concern and not laughing. At. All. Really! "I do vote very enthusiastically for this singing, for what 'tis worth. Welcome, Gay! Oh, pass that wine, would you?" she asks, holding up her half-empty cup. "Everyone has their thing, I suppose. She knits; I practice m'own hobbies; L'cher loses his underwear... aww, but Yash. I'm sure they'd do wonderfully." She throws a beam towards Velano. "Wouldn't you? I look forward t'hearing, and--oh! Well, thankee." Another smile, and she doesn't even snicker *too* much at the bolt. "--A'course you should sing, Metri. But mayhaps after the introductions; looks like those might be starting--" And she obediantly quiets down to look expectantly Juliri-wards.

Juliri says "Welcome candidates! This dinner is for you to relax, have fun, and converse with other people," Juliri starts off, glancing around the lakeshore. "And, some people might not know you as well as they might like. So, I'm going to borrow an idea that was put into use at the last candidate dinner --" she grins over at Gay "-- and have everyone here introduce themselves." She pauses for a breather - whew. "Ok, I'll start off, and then pick someone to continue. Then he or she goes, and then picks someone else." Another pause. "I'm Juliri, late of Igen Weyr, and formerly a seamstress. I was once searched for Fort, then returned to Igen to once again sew mangled clothes," she says with a grin. "After that, Kassima's lovely Lysseth searched me for Mirrath and Indrath's last clutch, and I Impressed my Malaith. And now, here I am, wishing all of you to have fun with your chores." Then, she glances around - hmmm, who to choose. "Claret. Your turn!""

Gay slides the wineskin down to Kassima, hissing, "We'll split it." Juliri's grin is mirrored by the other junior, and she tips her glass towards the goldrider.

Claret looks surprised for a faint moment as she's called on to introduce herself first, but certainly not shy to speak, she pipes up quickly. "I'm Claret," she announces, beaming around. "I grew up in the Woodcraft Hall, though no, I wasn't an apprentice, until I came here a bit past a turn ago to stay with my gran." Speaking as if by rote, she dips a nod and then punctuates more enthusiasm into her speech. "And then I got Searched by Lysseth, too," she adds, looking for the dragon and her rider with another nod, "And... Now I'm a candidate!" Drawing her gaze over the other candidates, she suggests, "Amarie next?"

Lysseth rumbles approval from out in the darkness as she's complimented. "Great, Juls, swell her head even *more*," Kassi teases. "Fair deal, Gay. I'll fetch the next 'skin when 'tis gone." Her eyes turn towards Claret as her turn comes, and she listens with interest, returning that nod with a quick smile for good measure.

Yashira keeps eating, though she's apparently following the introductions at least a little.

Amarie was busy feeding her face so when she hears her name, she looks up, cheeks blown up with the stuff that dreams are made of, namely those sweet tubers. She stops chewing, once realizing she's supposed to introduce herself and everyone is waiting on her. She holds up a finger to let them know it will be one second as she swiftly tries to chew and swallow. She reaches out for her drink, swallowing hard to keep it down. Then standing up, she licks her lips clear of any spices and says, "My name is Amarie. I'm fifteen turns old. I was searched by Meara and Isath at Ista Weyr, though my home is at the Beastcraft Hall." She then adds, "I can't sing worth a darned but..maybe Velano can?" She points to the butcher making him the next victim in introductions. She sits back down, cheeks flushing.

Carlile heads over from the central bowl.
Carlile has arrived.

Kaetan heads over from the central bowl.
Kaetan has arrived.

Juliri grins over at Kassima. "Well, I try," Juliri says with a broad grin aimed towards the green and her rider. Then, as Juls spies Gay tipping her glass to her, she does the same, tilting her head towards Claret and Amarie as they continue the introduction. Look! Juliri's like a proud mother, watching all the candidates tell their life stories.

"I wouldn't be so sure," mutters the butcher with a good-natured grin. He gives Tobay a strangely complex gesture of two fingers crossed, then uncrossed as he rises, swallowing a swig of cider that he'd taken in the ill-framed assumption he wouldn't be selected next for introductions. "I'm Velano of Lemos Hold; my father is the butcher, Alvaro, at the minehold there. He came from Telgar Hold before that, where I was born, though most all of my life I remember was at Lemos. Weyrlingmaster I'sai's Taralyth decided I would better Stand than be eaten," he confesses with wryness, "So I'm doing whatever catch-can duties I get instead of carving meat for the Weyr now." This is almost a tease, and he grins somewhat sheepishly as he descends back to his seat, murmuring aside to Breena, "You next!"

Kassima just grins at Juliri, a grin that broadens at the last part of Amarie's introduction. She applauds lightly and politely for each person as they finish, food--and dreams of group sings--momentarily forgotten.

Metri grins, catching his lower lip during and after Claret's introduction. Perhaps a mechanism to keep himself from speaking? Perhaps, because he bites down a laugh at that last from Amarie. Realizing that eating isn't going to exempt him from being picked, he returns quietly to his roll, sitting back in his chair and listening.

Breena's been quiet up til now, eating as delicately and quietly as she's able, but she's just taken a bite as Velano indicates that she's next. Cheeks flaming, she hides her face behind a napkin while she chews and swallows, muttering back an almost annoyed, "Gee, thanks." It's softened with a smile, though her color doesn't diminish as she looks around at the assembled group. "I'm Breena, from, um, Rushing River, down by Smithcraft?" Somehow, the sentence is made into a question. "I was at Harper for awhile, but wasn't an apprentice or anything. I got sent to Bitra for a little while, too, but came here with one of the watchriders. I was supposed to go back, but greenrider Meara said Isath wanted me to stay for the clutch, so..." She trails off, smiles faintly, and shrugs. "That's that. Um..." Her eyes move from face to face, until finally, they rest on another of her fellows. "Niella, you next," she says, then sits down, looking profoundly grateful for being able to do so.

Niella says "I'm the eldest of six siblings. My Mother and Father run one of the most prosperous runnerbeastholds in Ruath, but they were too traditioanl to let their daughter inherit. And since I kinda scared off the gentlemen in the area, they desparied of what they were going to do. Then a woodcrafter journeyman saw my carvings on the runners, and sponsored me to woodcrafters. After I was at the Woodcraft hold, awaiting the master's decisions, I accompanied the tithe train here, to help with the runners. At that point, Yselle and her beutiful dragon Searched me. And here I am! I guess I'd like to hear from Aloan after this!"

Juliri grins over at the candidates who have already done their introductions, and then glances towards Niella, who is still introducing herself. "I remember going through this," she directs towards Gay. "It's nice to listen."

K'ran's been listening attentively to each candidate's story in between bites of the tri-tip and swallows of ale. In an aside, to Juliri, he warns, "Just wait'll they get the idea to start naming us, to go next," with a smile.

Gay seems pleased with the deal she and Kassi have struck, then sips at her wine. She listens to the candidates as they speak, brown eyes thoughtful - as if trying to memorize names and faces. To Juliri, absently and softly, "Yeah - it's good 'cause there's so many of 'em coming in and out. Easier to keep track."

Aloan starts and then proceeds to almost choke himself since he had been drinking when Neilla opts him to go next. Blushing slightly as he regains his breath, he looks around. "Hey there. I'm Aloan and I'm the eldest of five. I'm from Crom and my Mum's a Weaver and my Da's a miner. I wasn't apprenticed to anything but I came here one day to pick up some cloths and I ended up staying as a worker in the Kitchens. Then I met M'hon on a break and shortly after, Insreth decided I should stay." he grins at M'hon briefly, "And that's that. Umm...Jaleran, you go next."

After a few judicious bites of his redfish, Velano leans back in his seat to try to catch Tobay's eye past Breena's form. Brows are waggled.

Kassima nods to Juliri and Gay, tossing her two cents in with a murmur: "We're the lucky half, really. Few of the Candidates for us Weyrfolk t'remember, compared t'how many of us there are for *them* t'remember." Her soft applause continues, interspersed with listening and mouthfuls of wine. "Lots of Craftbred or Craft-connected, it sounds like...."

Niella reaches over and squeezes Slosn'd hsnd, reassuringly.

Tobay, through listening and absorbing what is said by his fellow candidates, catches Velano's eye. His mouth opens once, then closes, a gaze shifting sizelong to land on another of their companions, albeit briefly, questioning, before he joins in polite applause at Aloan's introduction.

Breena casts a sympathetic look Aloan's way--she was in the same position herself, not all that long ago. Tobay's given a curious look of her own, then she returns her attention to the introductions.

Velano follows Tobay's meaningful gaze-track, notes its target, and nods to his Holdmate, wickedness in his eyes. The Lemos butcher falls back to eating after that, drumming fingertips ever so softly on the tabletop, turning his attention largely to the tree-tall candidate for his introduction.

Jaleran has been learning from the examples of his fellows. When his name is finally called, he doesn't have a mouth full of food or drink to choke on. He rises from his seat, tightening his coat around himself, "I'm Jaleran. I've been working my way north the past few turns, doing drudge work, heavy lifting, and the like while heading towards the minecraft at Crom. I started out at Honshu, down on the southern continent. My mother and father were both riders for High Reaches and I have a brother who is apprenticed at Harper Hall." He tucks his hands under his arms for warmth since his gloves are still on the table. "I'd come to Telgar with the Bitran tithe as a guard just before the snows started and had signed on to work lower caverns and groundcrew over the cold season before moving on when the passes cleared. But Dianneth and Yselle decided they had a better use for me, so I got the white knot." Then, with a slightly wry grin at K'ran for saying it before he could, "Well, Juliri never said we had to ask another candidate to introduce themselves, so why don't we hear more from Kassima?" He grins at the greenrider, then sits down.

Kassima starts to clap in approval, but the sound of her own name gets a pause. "Oh, dear," she murmurs, but grins back at Jaleran. "As if'n there aren't more interesting lives t'hear about? All right, but you asked for it." She pushes her plate away, takes a last sip of wine, and stands to say, "M'name Kassima. I'm originally from Greystones, but 'twas Searched at Ruatha by Jazmin's Chaeth t'Stand at Benden--that's where I Impressed Lysseth. How many Turns ago that was is a secret I guard by killing all who know it. Weyrleader P'tran tapped me into Thunderbolt and later made me his Wingsecond, and I became Wingleader a scatter of Turns after the move t'Telgar. I'm Metri's husband, I'sai's wife, and Pierron's annoyance; I've been Lady Holder of two Holds; I've faced Slithereth and emerged triumphant; I have eight lovely children; fish fear me; I once bit the head off a live tunnelsnake on a dare. And I leave it t'you t'decide which third or so of all that is lies." Her face is straight through all of that, somehow. "How about you next, Tobay? T'distract you from looking all conspiratorial over there."

At the end of Kassima's storied self-introduction, Velano coughs, laughing around a bite of sweet potato. This unsubtlety he covers with mild applause, his dark eyes merry but not quite daring another sidelong glance at his travelmate.

Metri, already chuckling at Jaleran's slyness, adds to the claps with laughter at her. "She's probably telling the truth about the tunnelsnake," the boy tells his tubers before taking a bite and quieting for Tobay.

Tobay has paused in his eating by this point, assuming a largely cogitative and not-so-innocent expression as Kassima names him. "Bit the head off...?" He trails, before recovering. "My turn? Ah, an introduction. Well." He takes a deep breath, then rises, puffing out his chest with his usual silliness by imitating a Holder at a fancy meal. "I'm Tobay, professional taster from wonderful wood-providing, jade-enriched Lemos Hold. I arrived on a mission to bring naughty Enwi her things after her dad sent her here, and I was so eager for a reason to stay that Dianneth helped out by eating my other shirt." He runs one hand through his rough-ended hair, grinning, "Since I couldn't go home shirtless and shiftless, already being the second, and I can only scratch pretty Dianneth's eye-ridges for so many hours a day to keep her from eating my other clothes, I instead agreed to stand for Miss Liabeth's clutch. Speaking of Miss Liabeth, how about Miss Gaycia next?"

Kassima sinks back into her seat to listen, with a fleeting grin cast towards that applause first--and only a sweet smile in answer to the trailed query. Her own applause follows, and a nod of approval as she looks towards Gay for her story.

Gay is still amused by Kassima's usually elaborate introduction while listening to Tobay - as such, her name being called is a bit of a surprise. She downs her wine, muttering to Kassima, "Refill?" as she stands. "I'm Gay, born Gaycia - and you can call me either. I'm from middle-of-the-woods Lemos. I came here to visit some relatives, was Searched just before I was to leave, and was fortunate enough to Impress Liabeth - who'd like me to relay her greetings. I love strategy games and cards - and I just wanted to let you all know that we'll get to the egg touching pretty soon, I think - which is great, 'cause they're fun." A wide grin for all and sundry - maybe she's just glad to be off the sands - then; "To save the candidates the trouble, I'll call on our fearless leader - K'ran?"

Velano applauds quietly for Tobay's introduction, his attention distracted thoroughly by Breena, at whom he frowns -- not darkly, but in consternation. After a moment he grins and, brash perhaps, gives her a wink before leaning close to add something, sotto voce.

Yashira leans back in her seat, still chomping through the food on her overly-loaded plate.

Kassima nods agreeably and snags the wineskin to fill Gay's glass almost to brimming, then--why not?--add a fresh splash to her own. "Oh, good, egg-touchings. Fun t'watch, too," she comments quietly so as not to interrupt, and grins at the goldrider before turning her attention to K'ran now.

Breena maintains that innocent expression, her attention shifting to each speaker in turn, though not without a sidelong glance Velano's way, brows lifted. Nothing's said, however--indeed, she sets aside her plate, folds her hands in her lap, and waits for K'ran's introduction.

Gay sits down with a wide grin for Kassi, who apparently knows the goldrider well. Yay, wine!

Tobay is the picture of innocence once his words are spoken, having tested the waters in front of the group and found himself able to make voice. He makes a teasing kissy face in Velano and Breena's direction, but loses it as he realizes the content of the whisper, turning instead to face K'ran with open and slightly red ears. Touching? Gulp.

K'ran's grimacing down a swallow of his drink when Gay calls his name. "Um," he mutters, as he tries to gather words. "Fearless leader is a Harper story. I'm just me," he begins, with a shrug of one shoulder. "My folks were Traders, and I came to Telgar with them; I stayed when they moved on. Sionelle's blue Brynnarth Searched me out of the infirmary, for Daelyth and Nraith's clutch, and my Indrath found me on the sands. I've flown with Dawnslight wing as a rider and a wingsecond, and then Starblaze as a weyrsecond, 'til Indrath flew Mirrath some few Turns ago. I'm... not much for wine, I enjoy ice skating and running, and I've four children -- three girls and one boy. Indrath likes greens and golds, and storms."

K'ran's eyes fly around, after he finishes, and he supposes, "Yashira's turn, maybe?"

Claret consumes her food slowly, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for each introduction, a variety of expressions flitting across her face at each one, and though her interest appears piqued, she doesn't seem too phased by anything said. Which might just be an indication that all the little facts are skirting her mind, and she's not being anywhere near as attentive as she looks.

Yashira looks up, mouth full. She glances around, swallows, and stands up with her plate in hand. "Me? Fine. I'm Yashira, I was born and raised here at Telgar by my mother, who still makes the best soup in the Weyr and it's better for your health if you just /agree/ on that. I used to be a hunter 'til Lysseth interrupted a sparring match Kassima and I were supposed to have and have never got around to for... shards, twelve turns or so? I impressed brown Decarath from Cariath and Spineth's clutch and things got busy after that." She looks upwards, forehead wrinkling. "I have a daughter named Iralne. I'm Thunderbolt's Wingsecond and have been for a few turns; before that I was an assistant Weyrlingmaster and briefly acting Weyrlingmaster. That's it. I have to pick on someone else now, don't i?"

Juliri is still sitting there, listening to the whole mass of introductions. If she's pretty quiet, it's only because she's focusing on listening and soaking up whatever information she can get from what the others are saying.

Yashira points over at Metri. "Have you gone yet? You."

Gevra has finished all of the food on her plate. She sits quietly quietly in her seat, hands still in her lap, watching the introductions and waiting for her own turn.

Yashira squints, then jerks her finger from Metri to Gevra. "No, I don't want to hear about tunnelsnake boy. You."

Gevra blinks at Yashira's sudden change. She glances over at Metri then stands, tucking her hands into the pockets of her over-large coat. "I'm Gevra," she says, her voice easily carrying without sounding particularly loud. "From South Boll, most recently, and the WeavercraftHall before that. I have been helping the Hold and the Healers care for the elderly." It's a short introduction and, well, perhaps too short. She glances around at the faces looking up and waiting for more. "I have one older brother who is a bluerider," she adds and sits quickly, frowning now.

"Diplomatic as ever, Yash," Kassi murmurs into her wine glass, shoulders quivering just slightly with suppressed mirth. She looks up again to listen to Gevra, and if her brows lift a bit in surprise at the shortness, her quiet clapping is no less sincere.

Yashira shrugs at Kassima. "Enh." She plunks back down into her seat. "He can go now. Go on!"

Gevra bobs up again, recalling her duty. "Kaetan can go next," she says, pointing to the short boy.

Aloan supresses a chuckle of mirth as Metri is passed over in favor of Gevra, "poor guy. I don't think Yashira will ever stop referring to the tunnelsnakes." he mutters to his cidar before he takes another drink. No chance of choking on it now!

Kaetan smiles a little shyly at the group as he stands holding his mug with both hands. He tends to shift a little bit, "Hello everyone. I'm Kaetan from High Reaches. I'm the son of Jacera, the headwoman, and Roltan a previous Steward. I also have another mother Kaelyn, rider of blue Nepenth." He blushes slightly as he mentions his odd family, "I'm one of several children from a group of several people. I guess you could say that I'm a real weyrbrat. I guess I'm in the middle of the group and my younger sis, Shalyn, impressed this past clutch at home." He smiles as he takes a sip before continuing, "I had been training to go to harper hall to hopefully become a harper, but instead I was searched by K'ran and his bronze Indrath. I'm happy and honored to be picked to stand here on the sands of Telgar." He looks around the group not exactly sure who to pick to go next. "Umm, I guess if anyone hasn't gone they can go." He blushes slightly embarrassed as he sits back down.

Niella shudders a bit. "Don't like snakes one bit. Kinda like tunnel thread.

Kaetan looks at the group and then stands again. "Umm since Metri was skipped how about he goes next?"

Juliri has disconnected.
Kaetan has disconnected.

"Wow, if I was feeling unloved at being skipped over, it's no better now, I'll tell you," Metri says, acting stricken and pointing a depressed look at both Kaetan and Yashira as he rises to his feet. After wiping away false tears with his sleeve he puts on his best ham-it-up grin and starts, "Name's Metri. I was raised in one of the many holdless caravans--which my Mum and Pa joined by choice, by the way--the youngest of six boys. We made a pit stop here, and they left while I wasn't looking. Mean old family of mine. I was recruited to work the stables..well..no, I decided to work the stables, with nothing else to do, till I was searched and terrified by Weyrlingmaster I'sai and Taralyth. I'm Kassi's wife," he adds after a moment, and then, "and apparently Tunnelsnake boy is added to my nicknames now too. I suppose last will have to be M'hon..." he says after a moment, and then sits back down.

M'hon blinks and looks up from the remnants of his dinner plate, "I'm sorry, did you say I had to go?"

Niella says "I believe, Sir, that you neglected to say whether or not you would participate, and your comrades certainly have."

Again, Velano pries a peek at Tobay around Breena's form. Again, brows are waggled. His polite applause for Metri's introduction continues until the conspiracy is quieted again and the butcher's paying better attention to sipping from his cider.

"That is, 'less you don't want to, Sir" Metri says with a shrug. "Either way."

Kassima gives her 'husband' a quick flutter of eyelashes and sickly-sweet smile as his form of applause--but then it's M'hon's turn, and she shifts one more time to watch and listen.

Tobay nods enthusiastically toward M'hon, not willing to exempt him from the torment, though he has to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop up the laughter as Metri proclaims himself Kassima's wife and Velano emphasizes the statement with eyebrow antics. A nod, an effort to be subtle, then focus is again on M'hon. "If you would?"

"Tunnelsnakes are horrible." Alaon responds, if a bit late, in agreement with Niella as soon as Metri was done speaking. He shudders slightly at the memory of why Metri has that particular nickname. "Be a good sport M'hon." Aloan says, adding his own bit in encouraging M'hon to go.

Jaleran has finished most of his meal between introductions, not difficult given he only put a load of fish and fruit on his plate. He can't help but frown deeply during Yashira's brusqueness, keeping his face towards the table to keep from censure. He mutters something to his glass of wine before taking a sip, then Metri's done and he joins the grins and goading to get M'hon to wrap up the evening. "You're all that's left silent tonight, M'hon! Wrap it up with style, then we can listen to Tobay and Velano try to not kill us with their singing!"

Hands still tucked primly in her lap, Breena resolutely does not look at Tobay and Velano--easy enough, since she's busy looking between Kassima and Metri instead. Then, with a brief shake of her head, she smiles at M'hon and adds her own bit of encouragement. "Please, sir."

Amarie has been eating during the introductions. It's not rude, it's just with all the candidates about, she finishes her meal while they talk. She dips the last spiderclaw into now cold butter and eats it. Her hands are trembling from the cold even close to the fire as it is.

M'hon shrugs, "Ah, well. I will give a brief introduction, then." he says and stands. "As you all may know, my name is M'hon, bronze Insreth's rider. My parents hail from the Igen Hold area and I worked as a messanger for Igen Holds' Lady while gathering 'information' for various parties to earn marks on the side." His lifemate can be heard rumbling encouragment. "I was at Igen Weyr, 'researching' something when I was unexpectedly Searched and brought here." He wipes that crumb off the side of his mouth that prevented him from looking truly evil, "Well, that's brief enough."

Kassima applauds more heartily after this final introduction--this time, the applause is probably for the whole group. "Lovely introductions all around," she opines, grinning. "And this time, nay anybody got hit with a ball that'd been in the soup. Always an improvement. Does this mean there'll be singing now?" It evidently does mean there'll be eating now: she reaches eagerly for her fork and neglected meal.

Velano's made pretty good time on his meal, having paused in eating only to applaud here and there, make his own introduction, and ill-capably stifle conspiratorial whispering with his Lemos comrade. "I keep hearing something about us singing," he remarks blandly, over the rim of his raised cider mug. With it he gestures at Tobay, by way of explanation of the pronoun. "Did someone volunteer us?" So casual, despite the telltale gleam in his eyes, he turns toward Breena, then looks down the line at Amarie and Jaleran.

"Not if I've any say in it. But if Tobay and Velano are going to serenade each other, which is the gist I got, I'm all for." And he pokes a fork at the cut of wherry on his plate, scowls at it, and then puts the fork down again. "For once," he tells Velano, "it wasn't me. But like I said, I'm willing to watch." He grins impishly. (Metri)

Tobay's applause carries him to his feet, his expediently emptied dishes abandoned. "I believe," he begins, his voice breaking but steadying, "We are being summoned to the platform of doom, O Holdmate, to croon our lovesongs for all the world to hear. Remind me to put firestone in your shoes later for this." He smiles at the rest of the group, tentative. "If there are no objections, I ah, think?" Green eyes glance at Claret, Gevra, and the riders, finally settling on Velano. "We might have something to present for your listening pleasure. If you can call it that."

Carlile heads over from the central bowl.
Carlile has arrived.

Yashira scowls dubiously and somewhat crankily.

Gay applauds as well, nodding to Kassima's sentiment. "Well met, all," she calls generally. "Now come and -visit- sometime. I have loads of time to kill." Speaking of which, it seems there's no rest for the junior - her eyes unfocus briefly and there's heavy sigh. "Oh, well. Apparently that's all I get for tonight." She downs her wine, rising from her seat. "Her Ladyship calls."

Claret finishes up her meal, clearing off her plate meticulously and looking rather longingly back to the table. All the same, this being an excellent opportunity to return her hands to warmth, she slides them into her pocket. "I haven't got any objections!" Claret says helpfully, looking rather enthusiastic over the prospect of Velano and Tobay making some kind of spectacle.

Kassima aims her fork at Metri. "You sing *after* them," she announces. As if that were enough to make it so. "Oh, they're going t'serenade *each other*? Shells. There goes *that* bet. But this I do have t'hear. Sing! Sing!" From her, at least, it would seem there are no objections. "--Awww, Gay. G'deve and regards t'her then, hey? And don't let me forget t'find time t'show up with a deck of cards or two."

K'ran, having finished his meal as the introductions wrap up, begins to rise. "I think I'm going to skip out, no offense to Velano and Tobay -- my turn to watch Trienne, tonight. You all have a good evening, hm?"

The Lemosian butcher, too, rises, making a much more reluctant show of getting to his full height. "We'll keep it short," he amends hurriedly. Gay's announcement earns a dip of his chin toward his chest and a raised hand in farewell; K'ran's gets another, similar. Then he casts a glance onto Metri, murmuring for the paler-eyed candidate's benefit, "Not you for once? Well, if it comes to be twice I know where to lay blame."

Aloan claps with the rest as M'hon finishes his introduction and turns slightly to listen to the others speaking. Aloan listens to Tobay and bites his lower lip, most likely to supress a sarcastic comment. "I hope you brought something to muffle your ears." he murmurs to Niella and then louder so Tobay and velano could hear, "Let's hear it!! Stop stalling!" he grins.

Breena almost cringes, but not quite. "I said I was sorry," she murmurs at Velano's comment, but she's quick to quiet down again, given that he's now standing.

"Will do, Kassi!" Gay waves around generally as she heads for the bowl again, grouching. "I'm -coming-. I needed to eat..." And she's gone.

Gay heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Gay has left.

Carlile trudges up to the lake shore. "Is everybody /still/ up here? Isn't anyone gonna come down and read us a story?" she complains, making a visible cloud of breath in front of her face.

Metri blinks at Kassima, blinks a couple more times, and gives an absent, "G'bye, Gay, Weyrleader." His blinking turns to Velano. "I'm not always getting into trouble," he announces, mostly to Velano but for the benefit of everyone. "And I'm not always getting other people into messes either. I'm not singing." That last is for Kassima's sake.

Kassima waves to K'ran as well, amiably; "G'deve t'you, too," she says. All the calls for singing just cause her to grin very toothsomely indeed. "Are so, Metri. You can't escape your fate."

K'ran's expression resolves into a frown as he passes Carlile, and he stops, sinks down to one knee in front of her. "Little one," he says, sternly. "This is not *your* night. This is *their* night." He waves a hand back behind him, to indicated the candidates. "If you can't let them have it, then go back to the nannies."

M'hon has disconnected.

Yashira salutes in K'ran's direction. "Later."

Carlile hmphs and looks down. "Okay, I'll go if you want me to,"

Tobay takes steps toward the platform, nodding and smiling and waving goodbyes to the departing. "Very well, very well. We'll give you a beautiful historical tune, one that pays a worthy tribute. Does that suit the occasion and the location? In honor of the banquet and our hosts."

Gevra deals with her dirty plate and slips away.

Gevra heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
Gevra has left.

K'ran gets back to his feet. "I didn't say that," he tells Carlile. "I said, if you're going to stay, behave yourself." He half-turns, catches Yashira's salute, and returns it -- and then slips out, back toward the bowll

K'ran heads in the direction of the central bowl, leaving the shimmering lake.
K'ran has left.

Though the audience dwindles, Velano claps his shoulders, warming his jacket against himself a moment before heading toward the platform. A shared glance with his Holdmate sparkles anxiety and bemusement in his telltale eyes, but nevertheless he ascends, doing his best to ignore expressions from harpers which are less than lovely. "I think it's the best we can do," he muses, and ascends.

Kassima suddenly supposes, as if as an afterthought, "Unless *Yash* would care t'sing...?" But her inquisitive glance towards the brownrider is waylaid by Carlile's overheard complaint. She shakes her head slightly, watching the girl. "K'ran's handling that well," she murmurs. "Sounds good t'me, Tobay. Especially if'n there's a lot of killing in it. Is there?"

Yashira bares her teeth at Kassima. "Mrrrgh."

Niella smiles, and continues to sit against Aloan, cause it's warmer.

Claret waves vaguely as she notices a handful of departures, meanwhile taking note of Carli's presence as well. Giving her a little wave that's backed up by a bit more concentration, she leans in Metri's direction, the better to be heard. "You ought to sing, Metri!" she agrees. "Unless you'll break everyone's ears, and I'm sure nobody is that bad."

Breena pulls a scarf out of the pocket of her jacket, drapes it over her shoulders, and crosses her arms, shooting a quick look to Amarie and Jaleran before she returns her attention to Tobay and Velano. "Somehow," she remarks, "I'm afraid of this."

"I'm that bad," Jaleran mutters under his breath, but he waits goodnaturedly for the Lemosians to belt out their tune. As a measure to hold off the growing cold in his limbs, he swallows what's left of his wine at once, then sets the glass on his plate along with his utensils. Breena's remark gets a grin, "Somehow I think you have cause to be."

Tobay hms, "Killing? Ah...yeah. We'll slay you. You'll see." He takes his place on the platform, then sinks slowly to his knees, reaching his fingers out in front of himself. "I am a floor harp." He clears his throat, then checks with Velano, to still his nerves. His eyes shut, and he begins moving his pretend finger-strings in no particular order, humming the high notes of the melody line's opening to a ballad that is recognizable as the tune of 'Moreta's Ride.'

It's a good thing Tobay's doing the humming. Sadly, someone has to do the words, and after the opening bars Velano sets to singing through an abashed grin. As it turns out, he couldn't carry a tune if it was put in a bucket for him. Nevertheless he meanders around the familiar phrases, describing a famous ride and a famous rider, girdling the continent in her quest to... acquire a bridal trousseau. The rider's name, bellowed at the low reach of his uncomfortable baritone toward the end of the first verse: Kassima.

Yashira hunches. "I'm gonna need more food."

Carlile is a bit stunned by the Weyrleader's warning, and sits down on a log to listen. Quietly. Not attracting attention. Yet. She grins as the music starts, and the improvized lyrics.

Breena's eyes widen, but that's the extent of her reaction as Tobay and Velano begin their performance. She does nod at Jaleran, with a sideways smile, and hides laughter at the mention of the rider's quest. Once said rider is named, she shoots a startled look at the pair, then sneaks a look the Wingleader's way to gauge her reaction.

Well, Kassi did ask for it, didn't she? But from her startled expression, mouth sagging briefly open in surprise, one might get the impression that the idea of retaliation had just not occurred to her. Of course, the startlement doesn't last too long before her shoulders start shaking and she brings up a hand to cover her mouth, trying to make her mirth a *fraction* less obvious: "Oh, shells and shards and sandblasted wherries...."

Metri shakes his head obstinately at Claret, and then a little laugh at Jaleran's mutter. "Me too," he agrees with the other man. He's hardly paying attention to the lyrics, but it's just enough for him to catch the changes; he, unlike most, doesn't bite back his laughter. Instead, he just starts giggling. "Brilliant."

Tobay hums a refrain, giving the audience enough time to register the object of their satire before he picks up, his voice a warm tenor that is much better suited for comic relief than for true musicality. The second section takes the words to the familiar ballad and twists them further. Substituted on the fly is the bride, given the name of Metri, who frets and waits as time passes and 'she' grows more ill and fevered with waiting. The heroine, beloved Kassima, still fills in for brave Moreta, though Tobay's cracking voice and increased tempo aids in turning the song from a somber one to one more suiting of the occasion, yet still doing an honor to the dragonfolk by relating Kassima's fervered search for the elusive bridal trousseau to the need for medicines across the land.

Velano sings, in turn, of stops on Kassima's protracted journey at which gowns and veils are presented, none fair or fine enough to make the bride suitable for 'her' most important day. He makes some effort not to see Metri in the audience while he sings, staring over the heads of the gathering so he can get the words out. Finally, as the verse draws to a close, the perfect trousseau, beaded and beautiful, is found and the story-Kassima takes to the air with it in hand.

Aloan almost spills the remainder of his cider at the improvisation of the song, ducking his head to hide his laughter. He moves slightly away from Niella to get a better look at Kassima's reaction, a wide grin plastered upon his features and looking like it would never come off. When the second verse comes around, Aloan gives up. There was just no point in trying to supress his mirth.

Yashira shakes her head and makes her way back to the food tables. "Agggh."

Jaw dropping as the song goes on, Breena snaps her mouth shut, folds her arms on the table, and puts her head down. Her shoulders shake, presumably with laughter, which is confirmed when she sneaks a peek at Yashira, whose reaction only makes her dissolve into helpless, if quiet, giggles.

Kassima makes a show of clasping her hands in delight. "I got the trousseau!" she announces, though she pitches the exclamation low--no need to interrupt the, ah, masterpiece. "Oh, good. 'Twas just dying from the suspense of it, y'know. Metri, if'n the next verse turns out t'be about you having run off with Jaleran because you couldn't wait any longer, I'm going t'be nay end of peeved." Funny. She seems altogether more entertained than peeved, and even sways one finger in time with the music.

Carlile grins at the music, shooting a glance at Metri. She struggles to stifle her giggles, and silently taps her foot in time.

Jaleran quickly holds his hands up to ward off the idea of putting him in the song as well. His glance goes quickly from Kassima to the singing pair, his expression promising no end of large, giant, looming retaliation should they take up the challenge. All the while his face is bright red from the laughter he's holding back, letting it out only in the occasional guffaw.

Between the lyrics, Kassi, and Yashira's reaction, Metri is little better off than Breena. At the greenrider's statement, he gives a hurt look at Jaleran, places his hand over his heart, and says, "Jal! You /told/ her? How...I thought...Well, I never!" Metri giggles further at the look the pair has earned. When he manages to come up for air, he promises, "I'd never leave you, my dear. Not even if Jaleran promised."

Tobay returns to his role as floor harp, opening his eyes since the most of it has passed. His voice adds the last of the abridged stanzas, this one relating Kassima's triumphant return to Metri's bedside with the life-saving trousseau in her possession, and of Metri's return to health from a state of pining sickness. O life-giving Trousseau! At last, the 'ballad,' ends with the wedding of the lovebirds occuring with great ceremony, no Jaleran included in the ceremonies, Tobay's vocal twinings concluding the last notes of the famous song. Rising, he murmurs, "They'll either love us, or stone us. Let's hope it's the former."

"If it's the latter, I'm putting you in front of me," Velano replies sidelong in a stagewhisper audible at least to the proper musicians if not to the whole audience. Taking his travelmate's hand he improvises a bow, essentially forcing Tobay to bend along with him, then bolts from the platform, leaping to the icy ground, giggles stifled.

Amarie is busy snorting with laughter and trying to hide the handful of giggles that Velano's song brings about. "Bravo!" She claps for the two Lemos holders and their song. "Wonderful! Do it again!"

Claret looks mildly puzzled as the song commences, the words being quite out of the ordinary, but when she realizes the subject, a giggle escapes her, and she covers her mouth, a grin on her face through the entirety of the song. As they finish, she adds to the clapping, issuing another giggle. "I don't know," Claret disagrees belatedly with Metri and Jaleran. "Maybe you'd render someone temporarily deaf, if you're terrible, but that wouldn't be so bad, right?"

Niella smilse, and stands. "Well, I worked all day cooking, and I fear I am most tired." She squeezes Aloan's shoulder as she gets up. "I wish you all happiness in the rest of the entertainments"

Breena's giggles taper off and, before she looks up again, she wipes her eyes, then applauds for the pair of performers as they step off the platform. "'You'll see,' indeed," she remarks, then smiles and waves to Niella as she gets to her feet. "Have a good night, Niella."

"Awww, alright then. Bye niella." Aloan says with a slight smile, "Don't let the plants bite." he adds in an aside whisper to her and a conspirtory grin.