Finally, a dragon/rider/.
RL Date: 8/13/07
IC Date: 2/6/13
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#840RIJs)
Standing on the eastern side of the bowl, you realize why this is one of the most striking Weyrs on Pern. Arrayed around the north rim of the bowl are the Seven Spindles: high crownlike points formed of old volcano flows which were eroded to sharp spikes. The bowl itself is a rough ovoid shape, with a large lake taking up a good portion of the southeastern part. The bowl seems to slant down to the lake shore, and the soil becomes a little looser in that direction. From the east, the slight aroma of herdbeast and wherry hide rises from the feeding grounds. The northeast section of the bowl is full of activity: training of dragons both young and old goes on in a large clearing near the entrance to the weyrling barracks and dragon infirmary. Several small boulders dot the area to the north, forming a winding path to the ledges leading into the weyrleaders' quarters.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. It is completely still, no winds blow and the winter air feels a bit nippy.
Out in the bowl, I'daur is waiting once again, with Zunaeth at his back as they study the sky idly. Finally, as the afternoon wears on, he has the bronze send for the first couple of weyrlings: Wyaeth and Seteth. Of course, most of the others know by name what's going on, and they're watching for I'daur's signal, too, most of them anxious to be first or at least watch someone else be, in the hopes that they won't be the ones to screw up.
Madison walks up with Seteth towards I'daur and his bronze as she gets in place. She looks around the ara and smiles a bit. "Least the wind isn't blowing." She comments to Seteth before looking back to the others as the arrive.
Beyond habit into the realm of custom now, Wyaeth answers the summons hastily and N'thei lags behind several steps. The bronze tears out of the barracks with a shine so glinty and so fresh that he must have been oiled in the last five minutes; in fact, N'thei still scrubs at his hands with a rag when he leaves the barracks, trying to get oil off his palms before he stuffs them into his gloves. While Wyaeth barrels a vtol-line toward Zunaeth, his rider stops a fair distance back to salute and say in an aside, "/Down here/ the wind isn't blowing."
Talien and Svodriyth are present and linger close to A'son and Nikoth. The blue's attention is holding firm on Wyaeth and N'thei, Talien attempting to skirt her blue in order to stand near A'son. By the smile on her face it's clear she thinks /something/ is amusing and with Svodriyth's attention so nicely diverted, she's able to whisper something in A'son's direction. "...wouldn't...he's...all.."
"Good day for flying," agrees I'daur, with a small smile for Madison. A nod for N'thei precedes a lazy salute in return. Zunaeth rumbles his own greeting to the two young dragons, lowering his head to study them. "Got your straps ready? Which one of you wants to go first?" He glances from N'thei to Madison. Dryly: "Wyaeth?" A glance to the ever-ready bronze.
"I'd let the bronze go first, sir." Madison says, chuckling a bit. "And yes sir, I have them ready." She tells the Weyrlingmaster before she looks to Wyaeth. "Let Wyaeth go, Seteth says that she doesn't want to set the bar too high too early."
A'son and Nikoth enter, the bronze looking suspiciously clean. He doesn't have a speck of dirt on him. His rider on the other hand, has muddy looking pants and a slightly damp shirt sleeves. They're soon into formation and A'son finds himself near Talien. There's a smirk for the whispered words. "I'm surprised, really. Aren't you?"
N'thei looks up at I'daur with a smile of rather thin amusement, tongue bitten for fully five seconds before answers diplomatically; "Wyaeth is always ready to go first, sir." Straps take a few minutes longer, with Wyaeth's only partially buckled into place owing to the immediacy of the bronze's response to Zunaeth's summons. "What a gracious dragon you have, Madison." Immediately after N'thei's politic reply, Wyaeth snorts at Seteth and noses his rider to make with the straps.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Seteth with << Lemme show you how it's done, sugar. >>
I'daur smirks at Madison and Seteth, nodding toward them. "Of course not," he agrees with her. "Wyaeth, N'thei--guess you're first off the mark this time, too. If you'll get his straps on him, N'thei, and we'll check them over one last time and let you go. Tell me one thing, though--d'you follow orders better when you're the one giving 'em?"
Dragon> Seteth bespoke Wyaeth with << Slow and lumbersome you are. Agile and gracefull I am, little bronze. >>
Wyaeth> Seteth senses that Wyaeth rumbles with deep-seeded amusement; << Pint-sized and gangly is more like it. >>
Seteth snorts at Wyaeth and her tail flips back and forth a bit and she holds her head up high as the bronze wuffs. Madison grins a bit at that. "He only follows what that little brain in his head tell him to do, Sir. So it should be much easier." She says, grinning a bit.
Talien nods earnestly, "Quite," is her quip before a look from Svodriyth has her silenced. The blue returns his attention Wyaeth-wards, his eyes gaining a small tone of red following the heels of I'daur's query. Talien's shoulders lift considerably too, and she slides a wary glance toward A'son.
N'thei works on the straps without even glancing up at I'daur to answer him. "No, sir." He fumbles with a buckle two or three times, gets a very impatient shove in the side by Wyaeth, and winds up taking off his gloves so he can finish the work. Finally; "Ready for inspection, sir. And thank you, Maddie. It's good to know I've gone up in your estimation from brainless to pea-brained." He smiles sweetly at Madison.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's input is far from helpful. << One, two, /three/. Y'got that, this time? >>
A'son gives Nikoth a sidelong glance and suddenly laughs, holding his hand close to his mouth to cover it up. Talien is given a look also, but his outburst is very brief and soon he's completely recovered.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth lets it ride for a long spell before he answers, then it's like a gritty voice across an arid expanse; << I had it last time. >> For all the good it did him!
"Least you're honest," I'daur replies to N'thei as he steps forward to look over N'thei's straps. He nods once as he does so and then steps back when finished, to Zunaeth's side. "Looks good. You can give it a shot, anyway--going to need a wingleader for real air drills soon as everybody gets this over with. Get on up there and strap yourself in good, and give us a few laps around the bowl." No number specified this time--maybe he learned /that/ lesson.
Madison looks excited for the riding, but she looks over at I'daur an then from N'thei to Wyaeth. "Are you sure that such a small bronze can lift such a big rider? I mean, his ego must weight at least half of what Wyaeth does." She comments, looking blissfully innocent.
Talien herself is having a hard time containing her laughter and has resorted to bitting her lower lip to keep from an outburst. A'son's laughter proves contagious and results in Talien snorting several times before she's able to compose herself. Svodriyth remains stoic, his attention settled on Wyaeth so that Talien's rather impolite behavior escapes his attention.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth obliges, genially so, << Musta had you confused with that -other- bronze. >>
N'thei takes a boost up between Wyaeth's rangy shoulders, fits his large self between two neckridges with a little awkwardness at first but soon settles in more comfortably. Before pulling on his gloves, he holds up first three fingers, then four fingers, then three again and looks questioningly at I'daur; there's not even enough time to answer, really, before Wyaeth takes a bounding and ungainly bolt across the bowl that shortly settles into a smooth ride around the perimeter. Madison's jibe goes ignored this time.
"They say," remarks I'daur to Madison, "dragons can lift whatever they think they can lift. And I imagine Wyaeth thinks he can lift both moons together if he needed to." He doesn't answer N'thei's finger-query, though he sees it plain enough: he and Zunaeth are both watching the bronze and his rider, I'daur stoic and Zunaeth stiff and half-crouched, a wary posture.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth, in the midst of distraction to the point of glee, finds time to contribute still; << Reckon that'll happen from time to time, seeing as you're not all that bright. >> Also, he lets spill over into the contact unadulterated elation, surely meant for no other purpose than to incite envy in the blue.
Madison gives a chuckle before she looks up from I'daur to N'thei as he settles onto his dragon. She watches as the ungangly bronze bounds and bobbles along the ground. Seteth snorts a bit as she looks back towards Svodriyth, watching him for a few long moments before her attention returns back to the bronze. For now she just watches.
Emilly lets out a tiny little sigh from her position nearby, watching the bronze take off. Her lips purse a little at Madison's quip, but her arms fold across her chest as she observes the proceedings silently. Sionath's watching too, head tilted slightly to the side at a very attractive angle, quite the contrast to Zunaeth's stiffness.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's careful to try and conceal the envy that is indeed present. << Reckon so, >> is his mimicked reply, << Don't know what I was thinkin', bub, his head weren't nearly as big as yours. >>
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Don't trouble yourself about it, son. No one expects you to know what you're jabbering about anyhow. >>
Give him an inch, he takes a mile! Wyaeth loops by three times, four, and finally backwings to a landing at the fifth. There was nothing remarkable about the flight at all, neither good nor bad. He's one for hard landings though, the scrape of talons and thump of heavy feet, gracelessly sturdy. Teeth chattering, nose crimson, it's hard to say based on his expression whether or not N'thei even enjoyed that foray.
About the time of the fourth loop, I'daur seems satisfied nothing is going to happen, and just shakes his head but doesn't comment even as Wyaeth loops back again. "Nothing fancy, but it works for him, I guess," he remarks of the flight, his tone somewhat more complimentary than the words. "Madison? Go ahead and be getting Seteth's straps ready. N'thei? How's he feel? Straps work good when he was up there?"
Madison holds herself in from a barking and derisive laugh at the landing that Wyaeth almost buries himself and his rider into the bowl with and she turns wordlessly to Seteth and slides her straps on, making sure that each of them are secure and tightly squeezed against her dragon's form. She looks up towards I'daur and nods. "We're ready sir."
Talien stares hard at the back of Svodriyth's head, and slowly turns looks on a few of the other weyrlings who are looking in their direction. After a long, indecisive pause, she folds her arms over her chest and draws in a steadying breath. She remains so, watching N'thei and Wyaeth's loop-de-loop-de-loop-de-loop about the bowl. The rough landing elicits a smirk and a huff from Svodriyth.
Emilly ambles over to N'thei and Wyaeth. "Let's get him checked over even though that flight went fine," suggests Emilly. "With those hard landings ..." she trails off, looking up at the Weyrling bronzerider with a questioning face.
Through the clicking of his teeth, N'thei answers, "I'm not dead, sir, so they must work well enough." The cold he'll probably wind up contracting from this is already almost visible, sounded in sniff when he slides down from Wyaeth. Like his dragon, his landing is anything but soft, all heavy sounds of bulk and bootheels on stone. To Emilly; "I think that's as soft as they come for him, ma'am. He thinks that's precisely how it gouth to be done."
gouth/ought
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth waits ever so kindly until Wyaeth's done with that tricky bit of flying before offering his version of a compliment. << He's gonna be toothless before long. S'gonna suit the both of you real good, that look. >>
Satisfied by the answer, I'daur nods to N'thei and tosses off another of his characteristical salutes to the bronzerider before he steps up to Seteth to perform the same check over her, inspecting the green over and then nodding to Madison. "Looks good," he confirms as he gives them room again. "Climb up there and make sure you're strapped on good, too, Madison, and then you can have a couple times around too, when you're ready."
"Can't be too careful," says Emilly quietly and starts the customary-by-now walk around the young bronze. "I've got some lozenges to help with that sniffle if you need them. Let me know if I should bring them down, though of course the Infirmary has all sorts of lovely medecines."
N'thei laughs a tolerant chuckle after Emilly, steps back to give her plenty of room to survey Wyaeth. "Can't you?" But he sounds more amused than annoyed, just takes the extra time to swipe at his nose with the pad of his thumb. "I'll stop by for some lemon honey if it comes down to that, ma'am, but thank you for the offer." Eager to impress, Wyaeth holds up his chin and drops onto his haunches while Emilly inspects. Scuffed talons aside, he looks unscathed.
Madison nods her head to I'daur before she moves up and slides up gracefully onto Seteth's back. "Ready?" She asks her dragon, who looks behind her to her rider before she turns towards the field and with the grace of a green, launches herself into the air. A few long flaps of her wings gives the quick and nimble green enough propultion to slide around the bowl, once and twice, then two more before she gives a little wing dip and backwings rather gracefully on the almost exact spot of where she had taken off from.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Better'n your shrimpy li'l mouse of a rider. >>
Completing her circuit, Emilly smiles over at N'thei. "Surely. Just keep an eye on his talons for the extra wear and tear his landings cause. Otherwise he's looking just fine." The greenrider steps back away from Wyaeth with a nod.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath bubbles amusedly: << Very fine if I may say so myself. Promise nothing hurts? >> There's a subtle teasing in her mental tone.
A distinct cough is heard amidst the group, the sort of cough that sounds like 'suckup' if the wind catches it just right. Talien being the source of said cough doesn't react fast enough to stop Svodriyth from pushing up onto all fours, the subtle tint of red in his eyes now encompassing them. His weyrling shoots a worried look toward I'daur, and then a somewhat pleading one toward the nearer A'son. For all that she's worried, Svodriyth does nothing more than turn his back to Wyaeth.
While Seteth is in the air, I'daur glances to Emilly and asks her, "Can you have Sioanyth call Svodriyth, and have him meet us out here with his straps now?" He's ignoring the crowd around and who's in it. His own bronze is watching Seteth, preoccupied with his weyrlings' flights. And when Madison returns, I'daur nods to her once, telling her, "Well done. But don't overexert her--she's not as big as Wyeath now, doesn't have that bronze endurance."
"She's as strong as any bronze, sir." Madison says, reaching out to hug her dragon's head to congratulate her. "You did very well." Madison offers, beaming at her as they walk back.
A'son catches the look sent to him by Talien, but didn't hear anything from her previously. He watched the landing of Wyaeth and now he's focused on Seteth's flight around the bowl. There's a nod, seeming to aprove of how well she landed.
Wyaeth clicks his talons on the stone with an eye on Emilly, though his attention shifts to Svodriyth by the time he's done tapping them all in circuit. Still speaking to Emilly, N'thei's look shifts to Talien as well; "Will do, ma'am." There's a stubborn set to the weyrling's jaw when he's done discussing his dragon with Emilly, lips thinned while he starts unstrapping Wyaeth.
Wyaeth> Sionath senses that Wyaeth returns with an aw-shucks-ma'am tone; << Nothin' hurts. Could do this flying stuff in my sleep. >> /Landing/ not so much.
Emilly's lips quirk up in a slight grin at the contrast betwen N'thei's words and his expression. "See that you do," says the greenrider lightly, but firmly as she steps back a little ways and then looks meaningfully over at Sionath, her own lips thinning, apparently at whatever thought the green has sent her way. "Certainly, sir," is her answer to I'daur though.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath is distracted for a moment then refocuses her attention, a watery tide rising. << So I can see. Though of course if you fall asleep you might fall out of the sky and that would not be a very impressive sight. It's a shame about the marks on your talons too. They're so shiny and strong looking otherwise. >>
Talien does not look happy when she looks at N'thei. The tell-tale puckering of her cheeks hints at an immature reaction just barely being curbed. It also reflects in her reply to I'daur, whom Talien greets with a stiff salute and, "We're set." Svodriyth isn't quite, though, and Talien faces the embarrassment of having to fasten the straps she'd left dangling on the blue. She's finished in a timely enough fashion, and with Svodriyth puffing his chest and unfurling his wings, Talien prepares to mount.
Wyaeth> Sionath senses that Wyaeth imagines the talons more /weathered/ than scuffed, dusts them up as something broken in rather than worn out. << They'd never be pretty enough to compare with some. >> Implying Sionath's, naturally. << So better to make use of 'em, I figure. >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's reply comes only when he's settled enough mentally: << My girl ain't no shrimp an' if you say so again... >> The threat trails into silence, but does not conclude his conversation. << You oughta be smart enough to see that. >>
"No, she's not," I'daur is patiet regarding that. "She's faster. That's why she's, you might have noticed, green." He shakes his head, then tells her, "Check her over and make sure she's all right." He's already glancing around for Talien when she speaks up, and he nods to her as he heads to deal with the next weyrling. "Let's check those over first," he tells her as she gets Svodriyth ready, and the weyrlingmaster moves to perform his customary check before clearing her as well, with the same instructions as he steps back.
N'thei opportunely waits until Talien looks ready to mount Svodriyth, then he speaks up in an apologetic voice; "Sir, ma'am, I think there's a loose d-ring on the left shoulder strap. If it's all the same, I'd like to head in and repair it." And conveniently ignore Svodriyth's flight altogether.
A'son turns his face up towards Nikoth's big bronze one. He frowns and purses his lips. He gives the dragon a thump to his side. "Cut it out." He says outloud. A look is sent out to Talien again and he mouthes, "Good luck" at any moment where it might seem that she would see him.
Madison grins a bit at that, "yes sir." She tells I'daur as she watches Seteth go stromp off, looking quite none the worse for wear. "Well, that's because they don't make straps big enough for your and your dragons ego, N'thei." She says, leaning up and over to N'thei, a small whisper to him.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth's voice comes again as from a distance, a lonesome sound that twangs his rheumy voice. << Poor half-pint gal. Poor half-pint dra... gon... >> The drawl fades slowly, like the last wisp of campfire smoke dwindled and gone. There will be nothing more from Wyaeth tonight.
IC Date: 2/6/13
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#840RIJs)
Standing on the eastern side of the bowl, you realize why this is one of the most striking Weyrs on Pern. Arrayed around the north rim of the bowl are the Seven Spindles: high crownlike points formed of old volcano flows which were eroded to sharp spikes. The bowl itself is a rough ovoid shape, with a large lake taking up a good portion of the southeastern part. The bowl seems to slant down to the lake shore, and the soil becomes a little looser in that direction. From the east, the slight aroma of herdbeast and wherry hide rises from the feeding grounds. The northeast section of the bowl is full of activity: training of dragons both young and old goes on in a large clearing near the entrance to the weyrling barracks and dragon infirmary. Several small boulders dot the area to the north, forming a winding path to the ledges leading into the weyrleaders' quarters.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. It is completely still, no winds blow and the winter air feels a bit nippy.
Out in the bowl, I'daur is waiting once again, with Zunaeth at his back as they study the sky idly. Finally, as the afternoon wears on, he has the bronze send for the first couple of weyrlings: Wyaeth and Seteth. Of course, most of the others know by name what's going on, and they're watching for I'daur's signal, too, most of them anxious to be first or at least watch someone else be, in the hopes that they won't be the ones to screw up.
Madison walks up with Seteth towards I'daur and his bronze as she gets in place. She looks around the ara and smiles a bit. "Least the wind isn't blowing." She comments to Seteth before looking back to the others as the arrive.
Beyond habit into the realm of custom now, Wyaeth answers the summons hastily and N'thei lags behind several steps. The bronze tears out of the barracks with a shine so glinty and so fresh that he must have been oiled in the last five minutes; in fact, N'thei still scrubs at his hands with a rag when he leaves the barracks, trying to get oil off his palms before he stuffs them into his gloves. While Wyaeth barrels a vtol-line toward Zunaeth, his rider stops a fair distance back to salute and say in an aside, "/Down here/ the wind isn't blowing."
Talien and Svodriyth are present and linger close to A'son and Nikoth. The blue's attention is holding firm on Wyaeth and N'thei, Talien attempting to skirt her blue in order to stand near A'son. By the smile on her face it's clear she thinks /something/ is amusing and with Svodriyth's attention so nicely diverted, she's able to whisper something in A'son's direction. "...wouldn't...he's...all.."
"Good day for flying," agrees I'daur, with a small smile for Madison. A nod for N'thei precedes a lazy salute in return. Zunaeth rumbles his own greeting to the two young dragons, lowering his head to study them. "Got your straps ready? Which one of you wants to go first?" He glances from N'thei to Madison. Dryly: "Wyaeth?" A glance to the ever-ready bronze.
"I'd let the bronze go first, sir." Madison says, chuckling a bit. "And yes sir, I have them ready." She tells the Weyrlingmaster before she looks to Wyaeth. "Let Wyaeth go, Seteth says that she doesn't want to set the bar too high too early."
A'son and Nikoth enter, the bronze looking suspiciously clean. He doesn't have a speck of dirt on him. His rider on the other hand, has muddy looking pants and a slightly damp shirt sleeves. They're soon into formation and A'son finds himself near Talien. There's a smirk for the whispered words. "I'm surprised, really. Aren't you?"
N'thei looks up at I'daur with a smile of rather thin amusement, tongue bitten for fully five seconds before answers diplomatically; "Wyaeth is always ready to go first, sir." Straps take a few minutes longer, with Wyaeth's only partially buckled into place owing to the immediacy of the bronze's response to Zunaeth's summons. "What a gracious dragon you have, Madison." Immediately after N'thei's politic reply, Wyaeth snorts at Seteth and noses his rider to make with the straps.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Seteth with << Lemme show you how it's done, sugar. >>
I'daur smirks at Madison and Seteth, nodding toward them. "Of course not," he agrees with her. "Wyaeth, N'thei--guess you're first off the mark this time, too. If you'll get his straps on him, N'thei, and we'll check them over one last time and let you go. Tell me one thing, though--d'you follow orders better when you're the one giving 'em?"
Dragon> Seteth bespoke Wyaeth with << Slow and lumbersome you are. Agile and gracefull I am, little bronze. >>
Wyaeth> Seteth senses that Wyaeth rumbles with deep-seeded amusement; << Pint-sized and gangly is more like it. >>
Seteth snorts at Wyaeth and her tail flips back and forth a bit and she holds her head up high as the bronze wuffs. Madison grins a bit at that. "He only follows what that little brain in his head tell him to do, Sir. So it should be much easier." She says, grinning a bit.
Talien nods earnestly, "Quite," is her quip before a look from Svodriyth has her silenced. The blue returns his attention Wyaeth-wards, his eyes gaining a small tone of red following the heels of I'daur's query. Talien's shoulders lift considerably too, and she slides a wary glance toward A'son.
N'thei works on the straps without even glancing up at I'daur to answer him. "No, sir." He fumbles with a buckle two or three times, gets a very impatient shove in the side by Wyaeth, and winds up taking off his gloves so he can finish the work. Finally; "Ready for inspection, sir. And thank you, Maddie. It's good to know I've gone up in your estimation from brainless to pea-brained." He smiles sweetly at Madison.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's input is far from helpful. << One, two, /three/. Y'got that, this time? >>
A'son gives Nikoth a sidelong glance and suddenly laughs, holding his hand close to his mouth to cover it up. Talien is given a look also, but his outburst is very brief and soon he's completely recovered.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth lets it ride for a long spell before he answers, then it's like a gritty voice across an arid expanse; << I had it last time. >> For all the good it did him!
"Least you're honest," I'daur replies to N'thei as he steps forward to look over N'thei's straps. He nods once as he does so and then steps back when finished, to Zunaeth's side. "Looks good. You can give it a shot, anyway--going to need a wingleader for real air drills soon as everybody gets this over with. Get on up there and strap yourself in good, and give us a few laps around the bowl." No number specified this time--maybe he learned /that/ lesson.
Madison looks excited for the riding, but she looks over at I'daur an then from N'thei to Wyaeth. "Are you sure that such a small bronze can lift such a big rider? I mean, his ego must weight at least half of what Wyaeth does." She comments, looking blissfully innocent.
Talien herself is having a hard time containing her laughter and has resorted to bitting her lower lip to keep from an outburst. A'son's laughter proves contagious and results in Talien snorting several times before she's able to compose herself. Svodriyth remains stoic, his attention settled on Wyaeth so that Talien's rather impolite behavior escapes his attention.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth obliges, genially so, << Musta had you confused with that -other- bronze. >>
N'thei takes a boost up between Wyaeth's rangy shoulders, fits his large self between two neckridges with a little awkwardness at first but soon settles in more comfortably. Before pulling on his gloves, he holds up first three fingers, then four fingers, then three again and looks questioningly at I'daur; there's not even enough time to answer, really, before Wyaeth takes a bounding and ungainly bolt across the bowl that shortly settles into a smooth ride around the perimeter. Madison's jibe goes ignored this time.
"They say," remarks I'daur to Madison, "dragons can lift whatever they think they can lift. And I imagine Wyaeth thinks he can lift both moons together if he needed to." He doesn't answer N'thei's finger-query, though he sees it plain enough: he and Zunaeth are both watching the bronze and his rider, I'daur stoic and Zunaeth stiff and half-crouched, a wary posture.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth, in the midst of distraction to the point of glee, finds time to contribute still; << Reckon that'll happen from time to time, seeing as you're not all that bright. >> Also, he lets spill over into the contact unadulterated elation, surely meant for no other purpose than to incite envy in the blue.
Madison gives a chuckle before she looks up from I'daur to N'thei as he settles onto his dragon. She watches as the ungangly bronze bounds and bobbles along the ground. Seteth snorts a bit as she looks back towards Svodriyth, watching him for a few long moments before her attention returns back to the bronze. For now she just watches.
Emilly lets out a tiny little sigh from her position nearby, watching the bronze take off. Her lips purse a little at Madison's quip, but her arms fold across her chest as she observes the proceedings silently. Sionath's watching too, head tilted slightly to the side at a very attractive angle, quite the contrast to Zunaeth's stiffness.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's careful to try and conceal the envy that is indeed present. << Reckon so, >> is his mimicked reply, << Don't know what I was thinkin', bub, his head weren't nearly as big as yours. >>
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Don't trouble yourself about it, son. No one expects you to know what you're jabbering about anyhow. >>
Give him an inch, he takes a mile! Wyaeth loops by three times, four, and finally backwings to a landing at the fifth. There was nothing remarkable about the flight at all, neither good nor bad. He's one for hard landings though, the scrape of talons and thump of heavy feet, gracelessly sturdy. Teeth chattering, nose crimson, it's hard to say based on his expression whether or not N'thei even enjoyed that foray.
About the time of the fourth loop, I'daur seems satisfied nothing is going to happen, and just shakes his head but doesn't comment even as Wyaeth loops back again. "Nothing fancy, but it works for him, I guess," he remarks of the flight, his tone somewhat more complimentary than the words. "Madison? Go ahead and be getting Seteth's straps ready. N'thei? How's he feel? Straps work good when he was up there?"
Madison holds herself in from a barking and derisive laugh at the landing that Wyaeth almost buries himself and his rider into the bowl with and she turns wordlessly to Seteth and slides her straps on, making sure that each of them are secure and tightly squeezed against her dragon's form. She looks up towards I'daur and nods. "We're ready sir."
Talien stares hard at the back of Svodriyth's head, and slowly turns looks on a few of the other weyrlings who are looking in their direction. After a long, indecisive pause, she folds her arms over her chest and draws in a steadying breath. She remains so, watching N'thei and Wyaeth's loop-de-loop-de-loop-de-loop about the bowl. The rough landing elicits a smirk and a huff from Svodriyth.
Emilly ambles over to N'thei and Wyaeth. "Let's get him checked over even though that flight went fine," suggests Emilly. "With those hard landings ..." she trails off, looking up at the Weyrling bronzerider with a questioning face.
Through the clicking of his teeth, N'thei answers, "I'm not dead, sir, so they must work well enough." The cold he'll probably wind up contracting from this is already almost visible, sounded in sniff when he slides down from Wyaeth. Like his dragon, his landing is anything but soft, all heavy sounds of bulk and bootheels on stone. To Emilly; "I think that's as soft as they come for him, ma'am. He thinks that's precisely how it gouth to be done."
gouth/ought
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth waits ever so kindly until Wyaeth's done with that tricky bit of flying before offering his version of a compliment. << He's gonna be toothless before long. S'gonna suit the both of you real good, that look. >>
Satisfied by the answer, I'daur nods to N'thei and tosses off another of his characteristical salutes to the bronzerider before he steps up to Seteth to perform the same check over her, inspecting the green over and then nodding to Madison. "Looks good," he confirms as he gives them room again. "Climb up there and make sure you're strapped on good, too, Madison, and then you can have a couple times around too, when you're ready."
"Can't be too careful," says Emilly quietly and starts the customary-by-now walk around the young bronze. "I've got some lozenges to help with that sniffle if you need them. Let me know if I should bring them down, though of course the Infirmary has all sorts of lovely medecines."
N'thei laughs a tolerant chuckle after Emilly, steps back to give her plenty of room to survey Wyaeth. "Can't you?" But he sounds more amused than annoyed, just takes the extra time to swipe at his nose with the pad of his thumb. "I'll stop by for some lemon honey if it comes down to that, ma'am, but thank you for the offer." Eager to impress, Wyaeth holds up his chin and drops onto his haunches while Emilly inspects. Scuffed talons aside, he looks unscathed.
Madison nods her head to I'daur before she moves up and slides up gracefully onto Seteth's back. "Ready?" She asks her dragon, who looks behind her to her rider before she turns towards the field and with the grace of a green, launches herself into the air. A few long flaps of her wings gives the quick and nimble green enough propultion to slide around the bowl, once and twice, then two more before she gives a little wing dip and backwings rather gracefully on the almost exact spot of where she had taken off from.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Better'n your shrimpy li'l mouse of a rider. >>
Completing her circuit, Emilly smiles over at N'thei. "Surely. Just keep an eye on his talons for the extra wear and tear his landings cause. Otherwise he's looking just fine." The greenrider steps back away from Wyaeth with a nod.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath bubbles amusedly: << Very fine if I may say so myself. Promise nothing hurts? >> There's a subtle teasing in her mental tone.
A distinct cough is heard amidst the group, the sort of cough that sounds like 'suckup' if the wind catches it just right. Talien being the source of said cough doesn't react fast enough to stop Svodriyth from pushing up onto all fours, the subtle tint of red in his eyes now encompassing them. His weyrling shoots a worried look toward I'daur, and then a somewhat pleading one toward the nearer A'son. For all that she's worried, Svodriyth does nothing more than turn his back to Wyaeth.
While Seteth is in the air, I'daur glances to Emilly and asks her, "Can you have Sioanyth call Svodriyth, and have him meet us out here with his straps now?" He's ignoring the crowd around and who's in it. His own bronze is watching Seteth, preoccupied with his weyrlings' flights. And when Madison returns, I'daur nods to her once, telling her, "Well done. But don't overexert her--she's not as big as Wyeath now, doesn't have that bronze endurance."
"She's as strong as any bronze, sir." Madison says, reaching out to hug her dragon's head to congratulate her. "You did very well." Madison offers, beaming at her as they walk back.
A'son catches the look sent to him by Talien, but didn't hear anything from her previously. He watched the landing of Wyaeth and now he's focused on Seteth's flight around the bowl. There's a nod, seeming to aprove of how well she landed.
Wyaeth clicks his talons on the stone with an eye on Emilly, though his attention shifts to Svodriyth by the time he's done tapping them all in circuit. Still speaking to Emilly, N'thei's look shifts to Talien as well; "Will do, ma'am." There's a stubborn set to the weyrling's jaw when he's done discussing his dragon with Emilly, lips thinned while he starts unstrapping Wyaeth.
Wyaeth> Sionath senses that Wyaeth returns with an aw-shucks-ma'am tone; << Nothin' hurts. Could do this flying stuff in my sleep. >> /Landing/ not so much.
Emilly's lips quirk up in a slight grin at the contrast betwen N'thei's words and his expression. "See that you do," says the greenrider lightly, but firmly as she steps back a little ways and then looks meaningfully over at Sionath, her own lips thinning, apparently at whatever thought the green has sent her way. "Certainly, sir," is her answer to I'daur though.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath is distracted for a moment then refocuses her attention, a watery tide rising. << So I can see. Though of course if you fall asleep you might fall out of the sky and that would not be a very impressive sight. It's a shame about the marks on your talons too. They're so shiny and strong looking otherwise. >>
Talien does not look happy when she looks at N'thei. The tell-tale puckering of her cheeks hints at an immature reaction just barely being curbed. It also reflects in her reply to I'daur, whom Talien greets with a stiff salute and, "We're set." Svodriyth isn't quite, though, and Talien faces the embarrassment of having to fasten the straps she'd left dangling on the blue. She's finished in a timely enough fashion, and with Svodriyth puffing his chest and unfurling his wings, Talien prepares to mount.
Wyaeth> Sionath senses that Wyaeth imagines the talons more /weathered/ than scuffed, dusts them up as something broken in rather than worn out. << They'd never be pretty enough to compare with some. >> Implying Sionath's, naturally. << So better to make use of 'em, I figure. >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's reply comes only when he's settled enough mentally: << My girl ain't no shrimp an' if you say so again... >> The threat trails into silence, but does not conclude his conversation. << You oughta be smart enough to see that. >>
"No, she's not," I'daur is patiet regarding that. "She's faster. That's why she's, you might have noticed, green." He shakes his head, then tells her, "Check her over and make sure she's all right." He's already glancing around for Talien when she speaks up, and he nods to her as he heads to deal with the next weyrling. "Let's check those over first," he tells her as she gets Svodriyth ready, and the weyrlingmaster moves to perform his customary check before clearing her as well, with the same instructions as he steps back.
N'thei opportunely waits until Talien looks ready to mount Svodriyth, then he speaks up in an apologetic voice; "Sir, ma'am, I think there's a loose d-ring on the left shoulder strap. If it's all the same, I'd like to head in and repair it." And conveniently ignore Svodriyth's flight altogether.
A'son turns his face up towards Nikoth's big bronze one. He frowns and purses his lips. He gives the dragon a thump to his side. "Cut it out." He says outloud. A look is sent out to Talien again and he mouthes, "Good luck" at any moment where it might seem that she would see him.
Madison grins a bit at that, "yes sir." She tells I'daur as she watches Seteth go stromp off, looking quite none the worse for wear. "Well, that's because they don't make straps big enough for your and your dragons ego, N'thei." She says, leaning up and over to N'thei, a small whisper to him.
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth's voice comes again as from a distance, a lonesome sound that twangs his rheumy voice. << Poor half-pint gal. Poor half-pint dra... gon... >> The drawl fades slowly, like the last wisp of campfire smoke dwindled and gone. There will be nothing more from Wyaeth tonight.