[M'try] Off-kilter - In the barracks.
RL Date: 10/25/09
IC Date: 1/14/21
Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr(#1605RAs$)
Rows of cots, enough to sleep thirty stretch neatly back to about a third of the way into this large cavern. There's plenty of room beyond there for more cots, a hundred could easily fill it up, but as it stands, that empty area has been converted into a hangout spot with a couple of lumpy old leather sofas, threadbare carpets, floor cushions and some low tables. Strategically placed around he room are barrels of oil for the frequent oilings that young dragons require, as well as cleanup buckets and dustpans for you know, dragonet doody accidents.
Shelves and cubbies line the walls, extra space for weyrling belongings and dragoncare paraphernalia. Light from outside comes in through the narrow windows cut into the exterior wall, paned with thick sheets of mica that prevent seeing out, but keep the space well-lit during the day. Glowbaskets in strategically placed sconces provide nighttime lighting.
"Hey, hey, hey!" At're's stunned... ness... turns into stern reprimand in zero point zero zero seven seconds. "Look, you just can't go shoving your nose into everything you see. Bad manners." Any who have ever, ever heard Ellasyn speak can hear her echo in her son's words, as he imposes himself between Khazioth and the bucket. "And slow down, you're gonna choke yourself, y'idiot. I know you're hungry. Slow down." He feeds out little morsels -- whole steaks, but they're little morsels to Azi, right? -- slowly, one at a time.
Liath frolics after Vanissa, giving her a nudge and darting to one side around the young woman only to stop and turn a look around the space. Food. Yes, Khazioth has the right idea about at least one thing.
As more new, glossy-eyed weyrlings are escorted out into the bowl, thos weyrlingmasters remaining outside are ready with furs, blankets to wrap around shoulders and those first buckets of meat being pressed into hands. "That's right A-- ah. A'yan?" G'dri guesses of the new bronzerider. "Everyone, remember, /you/ need to pace them. Make sure they eat slowly."
Mohraith trundles after M'try, bumping at his heels. He tries, now and again, to nudge his head under the ex-Harper's hand, but he has to stop to do so and then lollop a few steps to catch up. All the long way across the bowl and at the end of it his head and tail are dragging, his eyes no longer only violet but ruby scratched with amethyst.
But, but. Food! Khazioth first tries to headbutt his way past At're, though even in his insistence there's something playful in his manner. Aw, c'mon man! Heaving a sigh he plops down on his haunches, juts his nose up under his -- his! -- lifemate's hand.
It's like Nissa just can't stop watching Liath, that frolicking and turning taking all her attention. It's only when the tiny green looks towards that bucket that she blinks and ohs silently. She steps over to get her some food, mindful of her fingers as she pops in into her maw. Surely she'll realize soon who has and who has not impressed, but right now? She's in a world of her own.
"At're," the weyrling is belated to report to G'dri. He shrugs a shoulder absentmindedly, like, 'wasn't me, it was him'. Yeah. That's right. Blame it all on the lifemate. "Hey. Hey. Those are important." Sorry, don't mind him, not used to this 'speaking in his mind' thing. At're's expression softens like a little girl with her very first runner -- no, seriously, JUST LIKE THAT -- when Khazioth shoves his nose up under his hand. "Yeah, me too," he comments, before shoving a piece of meat at the bronze. "Slooooowly." Said, again, with stubborn be-like-the-mule zen.
Wait, what's this? Out in the bowl, it's -- it's raining white! Nilanth trots forward to draw closer to Genefra, pressing his body close against her jelly legs. Angling his head up, the whirling of the blue's eyes is fast and excited, his mental touch all emboldened glee. He starts forward, first, if she won't, galloping happily through the white stuff all the way to the barracks eagerly. The twitch of his tail behind him gives the distinct impression of, Whee, come on, Genefra! Rumbly stuff up here!
M'try falls back a step now and then, for all it costs him a tremendous amount of teeth-chattering despite the way he clutches a blanket under his chin, to let that hand hit Mohraith and grin stupidly in response to it. Aw. "/I/ need to pace you," he informs the brown, amused for whatever reason, while taking a bucket, eyeing its contents, then eyeing the heightened color beneath those prominent ridges. "This may be the most disgusting thing I've ever done. Here?" With a glob plucked delicately and held at length.
"Hey, hey, hey!" As Nilanth goes charging right on past the collection point, G'dri gets sidetracked and stretches his legs to catch up. Or at least, to stop Genefra before she can follow to far. "Call him back," he requests gently. "When /everyone/ is here, we walk to the barracks together."
That leaves the redhead to stumble after her dragon, although Genefra gets her bearings back in short order, and by the time she reaches the rest of them she's actually skipping, insofar as that's possible in the snow. "You know the way! Good. Good boy! Now come back!" Maybe she hasn't completely figured out how to talk to him yet, but she's at least full of happy grins. "Food's over here! We're going to have food! Well, you're going to have food. I'm not going to eat raw meat not even if I am hungry only I really didn't think I was hungry at all before so that's sort of funny isn't it? Hi," the last finally to G'dri.
<< Ain't nobody needs to pace me but me, >> Mohraith informs M'try at full voice, too hungry to bother with keeping his thoughts to himself. << Gimme that, yeah, that's the ticket! >> And he snaps at the lonely little gobbet of meat, neck stre-et-tched up to try and reach it.
Reluctantly, Nilanth does a great big loop though the snow -- sidetracked by his own tracks, he plunges his muzzle in and /sniffs/, and the resulting yelp has him hastening all the way back to Genefra, blinking and shaking powder out of his eyes. That stuff is cold!
Orisoth looks up at Nia curiously, sniffs at her even, taking her measure and gives her the draconic equivalent of a grin. Then he's trotting eagerly forward to where the others are, a low whuff of greeting offered to his clutchsibs as he nears. What's next?
"Great. Except..." M'try sits the bucket down at his feet after that first glob is dealt with, his toe nudging the side of it while he reconciles the size-and-shape of Mohraith's face with the opening of the bucket. "I'm reasonably sure you're not going to be able to do this without me, soooo." Crouching, blanket getting all kinds of dirty and knees poking out from under it in the process, he grabs another handful and adds, "Volume, by the way," with a look around. Like, someone else actually heard that, yes?
Once the last of the fourteen weyrlings finally arrive, /then/ they can all begin to be herded the short walk to the barracks, as a group. Amongst those fanning out, to keep the new kids at the wall, G'dri does a quick headcount. "Alright, let's get you all /warm/ and inside. Barracks, this way." Not rushing, oh no, but definitely encouraging to get everyone resettled out of that cold white stuff.
Khazioth shows signs of being only slightly subdued, and more than a little amused, by his lifemate. His headknobs turn slightly sideways due to the force of Mo's projections, and he shoots back, << C'mon, some of us want some peace 'n quiet over here, y'reckon you could help us out with that? >> with a sarcastic cheer underscored by comraderie. Trey's procuring a blanket for himself -- then another one -- and then leading Khazioth off with sure steps. "Hey, hey, not so fast," can be heard from the weyrling in question.
Jiella is pretty much floored. If she could be any more floored, she'd be crawling, frankly. But as it is, she's just walking beside Orisoth with a really stunned expression on her lovely face, unsure what to do beyond trailing Nia and sort of following the small brown's nose, so to speak.
One thing that Dashaya does not do upon bounding through the snow, is shriek. It just isn't the way that she operates. Though she is gritting her teeth with a grumble below what anyone else can hear as she too moves after Nia and keeps near pace with Jiella and her brown, a hand on her green's shoulder. Upon entering the barracks, she shivers as if she mught shake herself apart, but she straightens her back and snuggles into her coat. "Oh, I think I left a trail of fingers and toes back along the trail." Not cursing, really. Instead, she glances back to find Jheilinth and then turns to the others to see who's here and where she can sidle up to to get warm.
Just called back, now going again? Genefra blows out a puff of frustrated breath, tells Nilanth, "Okay, evidently we'll get food there after all," and then sets out in that direction with the others, making very promptly for this food business as soon as they've completed the trek through the snow and into shelter.
Mohraith snaps, swallows, gulps, making short work of that teeny bit of meat. << What about it? >> Volume. Still loud. He's not sure about this whole 'trek through the snow' thing either, but as long as M'try's there... Of course, once they're out of the cold he promptly plops his butt down and opens his maw again: More food here. << C'mon, c'mon, what's the hold up? >>
With his rider so floored, Orisoth takes over, leaning gently against her thigh when it seems like she might lose the way. He listens to the instructions being given, looks up at the blonde. << You need something to keep warm with! Like that there! >> And then he's staying close, head lifted up under her hand for the trek across the Bowl, short as it is. The snow just seems to fascinate him and he loses step a time or two, pawing at it, but comes back to the need to stay close. Once there, eyes round, he's looking and looking and looking at the barracks, nostrils flared to catch its particular scents. << Do you smell that Jiella? It smells like /dragons/. >> Jheilinth nearby earns a companionable shoulder-bump, like the nose-bump traded earlier.
Jheilinth has done her best not to trip Dashaya up in process of walking and peering about at the same time and now she's all about the next journey and spends it nosing at her like she'd guide her even with no idea where to go. At the mention of a trail of fingers and toes left behind, the young green peers behind her and actually /looks/ for it, muzzle touching the floor in the course of her inspection. In doing so, she dislodges some snow from one shoulder, then twitches the other to see if the same happens. But then the creeling starts. Food. Though there's time to bump back at Orisoth, friendly-like.
Vanissa has somehow had a blanket thrown over her, which she clutches as she tries to stop the shaking. She's cold? Yep, only now partially aware of it as she nudges Liath with one finger. "Lets go with them. Stay close." As if she needed to say that with the green nearly plastered to her side. She trudges though the swirling whiteout in the wake of the others. Even at this close range, their shapes are greyish and indistinct.
Bounding ever-tightening circles around Genefra, or at least as quick as he can go under all this mushy snowy stuff, Nilanth turns an attentive eye up on his lifemate. He listens intently to her words, and then flashes a few steps away, and then back again, and then away, and back... it's dizzy stuff, life, and snow, and Genefra, and eventually he's just got to stick close for a little bit or he'd fall right over. The blue is none less earnest, though, casting his excitable, whirling gaze up at her, back at Jheilinth, ooh, and there's Orisoth, wow!
G'dri is checking on those who were waiting the longest first, making sure no one got too chilled and also that no one got their fingers nipped. He can't help but grin again at Vanissa, and when he spots Dashaya here as well, she too gets that bright grin turned her way. Khameth is going to be /thrilled/. Ahem. "Easy there, easy," is said in automatically calm tones as he passes by Nilanth and Genefra. "Remember, one bite at a time, make sure he's swallowed before you let him have the next one."
"It's..." M'try holds his hand up level about with his forehead-- high, see-- while the corner of his eye twitches at that continued /still loud/ aspect. With his other hand wrapped in the blanket, he takes up the pail again and, head tilting into the first step, starts to fall in with all the others, though the frequent stops to feed make this a pretty slow trek for the pair. "Because it's not enough to be cold and miserable, we also have to continue to be utterly gross?" while he plunks some more raw meat-- seriously; gross-- out of the bucket and into the maw.
In the walk, Khazioth finds himself prowling out next to Jheilinth. He bounds from her up to Mo and back again, until At're's, "Cut it out, man," of a warning cuts through the smoky haze of the bronze's brain. At're, himself, is working at making it through the snow without tripping, without running into the blue in front of him, without staring too much at his lifemate, without stumbling (did he mention that one before?). Yeah. It's harder than it looks. Carry on.
Bite, then swallow, then another bite. Genefra can get this much down, easy-peasy. She settles in to offer carefully-chosen bits to her dragon. Her dragon! "It's not that gross. It's not any grosser than, like, having to scrape plates in the kitchen and stuff," she observes aloud, although pretty soon her attention has wandered off back to Nilanth.
"Eep!" Sounds like this whole experience has awakened a section of very-girliness in Dashaya's mind, because she's squeaking when Jheilinth nudges at her. "What're you, part herding dog? I'm going, I'm going, look. This way. Where they're going." Guiding her over that way as the others have gone, she belatedly flashes an absentminded half-smile at G'dri. "Don't look so smug, you." Then someone mentions raw meat, and she lifts her brow and gulps. "Um. How raw is raw?"
Kindly, to Jhei. Warily, to the rest.
<< Yeah, and? >> Mohraith's not following why broadcasting to everyone - and at full volume, too! - could be any sort of a problem. << What's gross? This ain't gross. You oughta have some. Smells great! --Hey buddy, >> he calls after Khazioth, << You get some of this? Good stuff! >>
"Bleeding," comes the light-baritone rumble from At're, brightly, to Dashaya. "That's raw." Khazioth, now, has moved from predatory stalk to full-on pacing run to catch up with Mohraith. << Hey, I'll take some of that, >> he agrees, pushing his nose up towards M'try. Hey you. Feed me. At're, appalled from the back-- "KHAZIOTH."
Nilanth eventually -- though not until he's made a very /thorough/ (that is, brief and with a good solid sniff at the floor) examination of the barracks -- sidles riiight up to Genefra, bumping his chin up against her knees. This attention-grabbing ploy is accompanied by big, bigger, biggest eyes, rounded up at his lifemate, his jaw opening and imploring. Yes? Rumbly stuff? For his tummy, which is rumbly? He might even be drooling. Just a little. << They say it's good! >> He chirps up to her, helpfully. << I'd share if you wanted some too? Genefra? >>
M'try never stops looking at what he's feeding Mohraith, because not looking would actually probably kinda make it grosser, but it's Genefra he answers; "I actually didn't technically do?" Is that the right word? "All that much scraping and scrubbing." Because, in a barracks half-full of adolescent boys, he had a marketable skill, you see. "You want to do something about this?" he adds over the heads of not one but /two/ dragons, looking for Atreyan (or whatever he's calling himself these days), holding the next glob out of reach of both of them.
Jheilinth follows after Dashaya, head tilted. << Herding dog? What's that? >> she asks, which is a very, very important question from how she noses at her /again/, though that could be a search for food and not the seeking of an answer. << Raw is... Raw. Where is it? The food? Please? >> Manners remembered for now, but that nudging gets more insistent.
Now that the exciting stuff on the sands is all said and done, Nia is here to help get and keep everything else in order. Well, after she gets her bearings, at least. For now she's mostly just watching since G'dri is perfectly capable of making sure things are going as they should be.
"Well, you should have. It would have been good preparation." Genefra can be smug about this now, as she gives Nilanth the piece of meat in question. "No, thank you, I don't want any, you can have all you like, though. Within reason. You have to chew," she informs him very soberly. This is an important responsibility. And she can be smug for now. Once there are whole dead-and-or-dying herdbeasts involved, this may be another story. "I eat other kinds of things. Vegetables. And fruit. And cookies. Stuff you wouldn't like, Nilanth." Trying out that name for size.
<< Che-e-e-e-ew? >> Nilanth queries, champing down on that meat with gusto and a marked lack of chewing, slithering the whole piece down his throat and popping his mouth open for more. << Vege-tables? Froots? What are they? Can I try them, too, will you share with me when you eat them if I will always share with you? >> His whole back end is wriggling, his stumpy tail thumping and it all comes out in an excited rush. << For a cookie? >> Whatever that is!
Dashaya stops dead in her tracks to stare at At're and stare hard. "Bleeding. Like. Blood?" She's taken up the mantle of Captain Obvious and visibly gulps, hiding the lower half of her face in her sleeve and tries not to look really green. "I hate you, Atreyan, I hate you. Are you sure you're hungry, Jheilinth?" As if it could possibly have been a mistake, but the tone says she knows different. When they get closer to wherever the afterparty's starting, she eyes the meat in the bin and blinks a few times, as if it will disappear. It doesn't. Damnit. So, with every push, she reaches back more and pats Jheilinth's side. "Easy, girl. I'm going. A hunting dog is.. a little animal that makes smaller animals move about in the way their owners want them to. Oh, ew, here." Sidling up near the bins, she starts to lay her hands on the mess and get it all nice and drippingly ready for Jheilinth, who pushes in forth to accept it readily. So quickly infact, that Dash has to jerk her hand back. "Hey! Easy! Chew that. Jaws, up and down, until it's in smaller bits." Obviously, she's shutting her mind off to the ickiness. Or trying, since it's still in her hands. Ew, ew.
<< I'll tackle him, you steal the meat, >> Khazioth's forming a tactical battle plan as he snaps at the meat M'try's holding out-of-the-way. << Three.. two... >> From the back, chagrined, "Khazioth." At're's pushing his way up to claim his errant dragonet. "Come over here. Leave the good little Maitrey alone." Trey claims his dragon like baggage at the claim check, and moves on forwards, grabbing a bucket of meat and carrying on. Khazioth loses thought of demanding meat from his brother's keeper, instead focusing on taking the meat from /his/ Trey without snapping fingers off in the process. At're? By the way? Totally covering up a snicker at Dashaya's words.
M'try looks, very seriously pointedly, at the dragons at his feet, not the meat, and then blandly back over to smug Genefra. "Somehow, I don't think dishwashing would really have prepared me for..." He doesn't necessarily know about the peril he's avoided, but Khazioth moving off at least means Mohraith gets the withheld bite, and the two of them will eventually somehow manage to survive the evening without any major incidents. Tomorrow, of course, is a whole other story.
"Chew," Genefra confirms. "Vegetables and fruits are planty things. Dragons don't eat planty things." Then a little quieter, conspiratorial, "But I bet you could try some sometime. If you wanted. Shh." Yes, secrets to a baby dragon, that's going to work out really well. "You don't need to share with me but thank you. You need to eat and grow up all big and strong and stuff."
IC Date: 1/14/21
Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr(#1605RAs$)
Rows of cots, enough to sleep thirty stretch neatly back to about a third of the way into this large cavern. There's plenty of room beyond there for more cots, a hundred could easily fill it up, but as it stands, that empty area has been converted into a hangout spot with a couple of lumpy old leather sofas, threadbare carpets, floor cushions and some low tables. Strategically placed around he room are barrels of oil for the frequent oilings that young dragons require, as well as cleanup buckets and dustpans for you know, dragonet doody accidents.
Shelves and cubbies line the walls, extra space for weyrling belongings and dragoncare paraphernalia. Light from outside comes in through the narrow windows cut into the exterior wall, paned with thick sheets of mica that prevent seeing out, but keep the space well-lit during the day. Glowbaskets in strategically placed sconces provide nighttime lighting.
"Hey, hey, hey!" At're's stunned... ness... turns into stern reprimand in zero point zero zero seven seconds. "Look, you just can't go shoving your nose into everything you see. Bad manners." Any who have ever, ever heard Ellasyn speak can hear her echo in her son's words, as he imposes himself between Khazioth and the bucket. "And slow down, you're gonna choke yourself, y'idiot. I know you're hungry. Slow down." He feeds out little morsels -- whole steaks, but they're little morsels to Azi, right? -- slowly, one at a time.
Liath frolics after Vanissa, giving her a nudge and darting to one side around the young woman only to stop and turn a look around the space. Food. Yes, Khazioth has the right idea about at least one thing.
As more new, glossy-eyed weyrlings are escorted out into the bowl, thos weyrlingmasters remaining outside are ready with furs, blankets to wrap around shoulders and those first buckets of meat being pressed into hands. "That's right A-- ah. A'yan?" G'dri guesses of the new bronzerider. "Everyone, remember, /you/ need to pace them. Make sure they eat slowly."
Mohraith trundles after M'try, bumping at his heels. He tries, now and again, to nudge his head under the ex-Harper's hand, but he has to stop to do so and then lollop a few steps to catch up. All the long way across the bowl and at the end of it his head and tail are dragging, his eyes no longer only violet but ruby scratched with amethyst.
But, but. Food! Khazioth first tries to headbutt his way past At're, though even in his insistence there's something playful in his manner. Aw, c'mon man! Heaving a sigh he plops down on his haunches, juts his nose up under his -- his! -- lifemate's hand.
It's like Nissa just can't stop watching Liath, that frolicking and turning taking all her attention. It's only when the tiny green looks towards that bucket that she blinks and ohs silently. She steps over to get her some food, mindful of her fingers as she pops in into her maw. Surely she'll realize soon who has and who has not impressed, but right now? She's in a world of her own.
"At're," the weyrling is belated to report to G'dri. He shrugs a shoulder absentmindedly, like, 'wasn't me, it was him'. Yeah. That's right. Blame it all on the lifemate. "Hey. Hey. Those are important." Sorry, don't mind him, not used to this 'speaking in his mind' thing. At're's expression softens like a little girl with her very first runner -- no, seriously, JUST LIKE THAT -- when Khazioth shoves his nose up under his hand. "Yeah, me too," he comments, before shoving a piece of meat at the bronze. "Slooooowly." Said, again, with stubborn be-like-the-mule zen.
Wait, what's this? Out in the bowl, it's -- it's raining white! Nilanth trots forward to draw closer to Genefra, pressing his body close against her jelly legs. Angling his head up, the whirling of the blue's eyes is fast and excited, his mental touch all emboldened glee. He starts forward, first, if she won't, galloping happily through the white stuff all the way to the barracks eagerly. The twitch of his tail behind him gives the distinct impression of, Whee, come on, Genefra! Rumbly stuff up here!
M'try falls back a step now and then, for all it costs him a tremendous amount of teeth-chattering despite the way he clutches a blanket under his chin, to let that hand hit Mohraith and grin stupidly in response to it. Aw. "/I/ need to pace you," he informs the brown, amused for whatever reason, while taking a bucket, eyeing its contents, then eyeing the heightened color beneath those prominent ridges. "This may be the most disgusting thing I've ever done. Here?" With a glob plucked delicately and held at length.
"Hey, hey, hey!" As Nilanth goes charging right on past the collection point, G'dri gets sidetracked and stretches his legs to catch up. Or at least, to stop Genefra before she can follow to far. "Call him back," he requests gently. "When /everyone/ is here, we walk to the barracks together."
That leaves the redhead to stumble after her dragon, although Genefra gets her bearings back in short order, and by the time she reaches the rest of them she's actually skipping, insofar as that's possible in the snow. "You know the way! Good. Good boy! Now come back!" Maybe she hasn't completely figured out how to talk to him yet, but she's at least full of happy grins. "Food's over here! We're going to have food! Well, you're going to have food. I'm not going to eat raw meat not even if I am hungry only I really didn't think I was hungry at all before so that's sort of funny isn't it? Hi," the last finally to G'dri.
<< Ain't nobody needs to pace me but me, >> Mohraith informs M'try at full voice, too hungry to bother with keeping his thoughts to himself. << Gimme that, yeah, that's the ticket! >> And he snaps at the lonely little gobbet of meat, neck stre-et-tched up to try and reach it.
Reluctantly, Nilanth does a great big loop though the snow -- sidetracked by his own tracks, he plunges his muzzle in and /sniffs/, and the resulting yelp has him hastening all the way back to Genefra, blinking and shaking powder out of his eyes. That stuff is cold!
Orisoth looks up at Nia curiously, sniffs at her even, taking her measure and gives her the draconic equivalent of a grin. Then he's trotting eagerly forward to where the others are, a low whuff of greeting offered to his clutchsibs as he nears. What's next?
"Great. Except..." M'try sits the bucket down at his feet after that first glob is dealt with, his toe nudging the side of it while he reconciles the size-and-shape of Mohraith's face with the opening of the bucket. "I'm reasonably sure you're not going to be able to do this without me, soooo." Crouching, blanket getting all kinds of dirty and knees poking out from under it in the process, he grabs another handful and adds, "Volume, by the way," with a look around. Like, someone else actually heard that, yes?
Once the last of the fourteen weyrlings finally arrive, /then/ they can all begin to be herded the short walk to the barracks, as a group. Amongst those fanning out, to keep the new kids at the wall, G'dri does a quick headcount. "Alright, let's get you all /warm/ and inside. Barracks, this way." Not rushing, oh no, but definitely encouraging to get everyone resettled out of that cold white stuff.
Khazioth shows signs of being only slightly subdued, and more than a little amused, by his lifemate. His headknobs turn slightly sideways due to the force of Mo's projections, and he shoots back, << C'mon, some of us want some peace 'n quiet over here, y'reckon you could help us out with that? >> with a sarcastic cheer underscored by comraderie. Trey's procuring a blanket for himself -- then another one -- and then leading Khazioth off with sure steps. "Hey, hey, not so fast," can be heard from the weyrling in question.
Jiella is pretty much floored. If she could be any more floored, she'd be crawling, frankly. But as it is, she's just walking beside Orisoth with a really stunned expression on her lovely face, unsure what to do beyond trailing Nia and sort of following the small brown's nose, so to speak.
One thing that Dashaya does not do upon bounding through the snow, is shriek. It just isn't the way that she operates. Though she is gritting her teeth with a grumble below what anyone else can hear as she too moves after Nia and keeps near pace with Jiella and her brown, a hand on her green's shoulder. Upon entering the barracks, she shivers as if she mught shake herself apart, but she straightens her back and snuggles into her coat. "Oh, I think I left a trail of fingers and toes back along the trail." Not cursing, really. Instead, she glances back to find Jheilinth and then turns to the others to see who's here and where she can sidle up to to get warm.
Just called back, now going again? Genefra blows out a puff of frustrated breath, tells Nilanth, "Okay, evidently we'll get food there after all," and then sets out in that direction with the others, making very promptly for this food business as soon as they've completed the trek through the snow and into shelter.
Mohraith snaps, swallows, gulps, making short work of that teeny bit of meat. << What about it? >> Volume. Still loud. He's not sure about this whole 'trek through the snow' thing either, but as long as M'try's there... Of course, once they're out of the cold he promptly plops his butt down and opens his maw again: More food here. << C'mon, c'mon, what's the hold up? >>
With his rider so floored, Orisoth takes over, leaning gently against her thigh when it seems like she might lose the way. He listens to the instructions being given, looks up at the blonde. << You need something to keep warm with! Like that there! >> And then he's staying close, head lifted up under her hand for the trek across the Bowl, short as it is. The snow just seems to fascinate him and he loses step a time or two, pawing at it, but comes back to the need to stay close. Once there, eyes round, he's looking and looking and looking at the barracks, nostrils flared to catch its particular scents. << Do you smell that Jiella? It smells like /dragons/. >> Jheilinth nearby earns a companionable shoulder-bump, like the nose-bump traded earlier.
Jheilinth has done her best not to trip Dashaya up in process of walking and peering about at the same time and now she's all about the next journey and spends it nosing at her like she'd guide her even with no idea where to go. At the mention of a trail of fingers and toes left behind, the young green peers behind her and actually /looks/ for it, muzzle touching the floor in the course of her inspection. In doing so, she dislodges some snow from one shoulder, then twitches the other to see if the same happens. But then the creeling starts. Food. Though there's time to bump back at Orisoth, friendly-like.
Vanissa has somehow had a blanket thrown over her, which she clutches as she tries to stop the shaking. She's cold? Yep, only now partially aware of it as she nudges Liath with one finger. "Lets go with them. Stay close." As if she needed to say that with the green nearly plastered to her side. She trudges though the swirling whiteout in the wake of the others. Even at this close range, their shapes are greyish and indistinct.
Bounding ever-tightening circles around Genefra, or at least as quick as he can go under all this mushy snowy stuff, Nilanth turns an attentive eye up on his lifemate. He listens intently to her words, and then flashes a few steps away, and then back again, and then away, and back... it's dizzy stuff, life, and snow, and Genefra, and eventually he's just got to stick close for a little bit or he'd fall right over. The blue is none less earnest, though, casting his excitable, whirling gaze up at her, back at Jheilinth, ooh, and there's Orisoth, wow!
G'dri is checking on those who were waiting the longest first, making sure no one got too chilled and also that no one got their fingers nipped. He can't help but grin again at Vanissa, and when he spots Dashaya here as well, she too gets that bright grin turned her way. Khameth is going to be /thrilled/. Ahem. "Easy there, easy," is said in automatically calm tones as he passes by Nilanth and Genefra. "Remember, one bite at a time, make sure he's swallowed before you let him have the next one."
"It's..." M'try holds his hand up level about with his forehead-- high, see-- while the corner of his eye twitches at that continued /still loud/ aspect. With his other hand wrapped in the blanket, he takes up the pail again and, head tilting into the first step, starts to fall in with all the others, though the frequent stops to feed make this a pretty slow trek for the pair. "Because it's not enough to be cold and miserable, we also have to continue to be utterly gross?" while he plunks some more raw meat-- seriously; gross-- out of the bucket and into the maw.
In the walk, Khazioth finds himself prowling out next to Jheilinth. He bounds from her up to Mo and back again, until At're's, "Cut it out, man," of a warning cuts through the smoky haze of the bronze's brain. At're, himself, is working at making it through the snow without tripping, without running into the blue in front of him, without staring too much at his lifemate, without stumbling (did he mention that one before?). Yeah. It's harder than it looks. Carry on.
Bite, then swallow, then another bite. Genefra can get this much down, easy-peasy. She settles in to offer carefully-chosen bits to her dragon. Her dragon! "It's not that gross. It's not any grosser than, like, having to scrape plates in the kitchen and stuff," she observes aloud, although pretty soon her attention has wandered off back to Nilanth.
"Eep!" Sounds like this whole experience has awakened a section of very-girliness in Dashaya's mind, because she's squeaking when Jheilinth nudges at her. "What're you, part herding dog? I'm going, I'm going, look. This way. Where they're going." Guiding her over that way as the others have gone, she belatedly flashes an absentminded half-smile at G'dri. "Don't look so smug, you." Then someone mentions raw meat, and she lifts her brow and gulps. "Um. How raw is raw?"
Kindly, to Jhei. Warily, to the rest.
<< Yeah, and? >> Mohraith's not following why broadcasting to everyone - and at full volume, too! - could be any sort of a problem. << What's gross? This ain't gross. You oughta have some. Smells great! --Hey buddy, >> he calls after Khazioth, << You get some of this? Good stuff! >>
"Bleeding," comes the light-baritone rumble from At're, brightly, to Dashaya. "That's raw." Khazioth, now, has moved from predatory stalk to full-on pacing run to catch up with Mohraith. << Hey, I'll take some of that, >> he agrees, pushing his nose up towards M'try. Hey you. Feed me. At're, appalled from the back-- "KHAZIOTH."
Nilanth eventually -- though not until he's made a very /thorough/ (that is, brief and with a good solid sniff at the floor) examination of the barracks -- sidles riiight up to Genefra, bumping his chin up against her knees. This attention-grabbing ploy is accompanied by big, bigger, biggest eyes, rounded up at his lifemate, his jaw opening and imploring. Yes? Rumbly stuff? For his tummy, which is rumbly? He might even be drooling. Just a little. << They say it's good! >> He chirps up to her, helpfully. << I'd share if you wanted some too? Genefra? >>
M'try never stops looking at what he's feeding Mohraith, because not looking would actually probably kinda make it grosser, but it's Genefra he answers; "I actually didn't technically do?" Is that the right word? "All that much scraping and scrubbing." Because, in a barracks half-full of adolescent boys, he had a marketable skill, you see. "You want to do something about this?" he adds over the heads of not one but /two/ dragons, looking for Atreyan (or whatever he's calling himself these days), holding the next glob out of reach of both of them.
Jheilinth follows after Dashaya, head tilted. << Herding dog? What's that? >> she asks, which is a very, very important question from how she noses at her /again/, though that could be a search for food and not the seeking of an answer. << Raw is... Raw. Where is it? The food? Please? >> Manners remembered for now, but that nudging gets more insistent.
Now that the exciting stuff on the sands is all said and done, Nia is here to help get and keep everything else in order. Well, after she gets her bearings, at least. For now she's mostly just watching since G'dri is perfectly capable of making sure things are going as they should be.
"Well, you should have. It would have been good preparation." Genefra can be smug about this now, as she gives Nilanth the piece of meat in question. "No, thank you, I don't want any, you can have all you like, though. Within reason. You have to chew," she informs him very soberly. This is an important responsibility. And she can be smug for now. Once there are whole dead-and-or-dying herdbeasts involved, this may be another story. "I eat other kinds of things. Vegetables. And fruit. And cookies. Stuff you wouldn't like, Nilanth." Trying out that name for size.
<< Che-e-e-e-ew? >> Nilanth queries, champing down on that meat with gusto and a marked lack of chewing, slithering the whole piece down his throat and popping his mouth open for more. << Vege-tables? Froots? What are they? Can I try them, too, will you share with me when you eat them if I will always share with you? >> His whole back end is wriggling, his stumpy tail thumping and it all comes out in an excited rush. << For a cookie? >> Whatever that is!
Dashaya stops dead in her tracks to stare at At're and stare hard. "Bleeding. Like. Blood?" She's taken up the mantle of Captain Obvious and visibly gulps, hiding the lower half of her face in her sleeve and tries not to look really green. "I hate you, Atreyan, I hate you. Are you sure you're hungry, Jheilinth?" As if it could possibly have been a mistake, but the tone says she knows different. When they get closer to wherever the afterparty's starting, she eyes the meat in the bin and blinks a few times, as if it will disappear. It doesn't. Damnit. So, with every push, she reaches back more and pats Jheilinth's side. "Easy, girl. I'm going. A hunting dog is.. a little animal that makes smaller animals move about in the way their owners want them to. Oh, ew, here." Sidling up near the bins, she starts to lay her hands on the mess and get it all nice and drippingly ready for Jheilinth, who pushes in forth to accept it readily. So quickly infact, that Dash has to jerk her hand back. "Hey! Easy! Chew that. Jaws, up and down, until it's in smaller bits." Obviously, she's shutting her mind off to the ickiness. Or trying, since it's still in her hands. Ew, ew.
<< I'll tackle him, you steal the meat, >> Khazioth's forming a tactical battle plan as he snaps at the meat M'try's holding out-of-the-way. << Three.. two... >> From the back, chagrined, "Khazioth." At're's pushing his way up to claim his errant dragonet. "Come over here. Leave the good little Maitrey alone." Trey claims his dragon like baggage at the claim check, and moves on forwards, grabbing a bucket of meat and carrying on. Khazioth loses thought of demanding meat from his brother's keeper, instead focusing on taking the meat from /his/ Trey without snapping fingers off in the process. At're? By the way? Totally covering up a snicker at Dashaya's words.
M'try looks, very seriously pointedly, at the dragons at his feet, not the meat, and then blandly back over to smug Genefra. "Somehow, I don't think dishwashing would really have prepared me for..." He doesn't necessarily know about the peril he's avoided, but Khazioth moving off at least means Mohraith gets the withheld bite, and the two of them will eventually somehow manage to survive the evening without any major incidents. Tomorrow, of course, is a whole other story.
"Chew," Genefra confirms. "Vegetables and fruits are planty things. Dragons don't eat planty things." Then a little quieter, conspiratorial, "But I bet you could try some sometime. If you wanted. Shh." Yes, secrets to a baby dragon, that's going to work out really well. "You don't need to share with me but thank you. You need to eat and grow up all big and strong and stuff."