It was an accident!
RL Date: 8/27/2007
IC Date: 4/6/13
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 evening is mostly hidden behind dark clouds that cover the sky, though when the clouds clear briefly you can see the stars. The smaller Belior shines in half moon while Timor is a nearly full waxing gibbous. It is raining heavily, the water coming down in torrents. A light wind blows and the spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The ground beneath your feet is wet from the last storm.
Over the last few days, I'daur has continued his routine of teaching the beginnings of new things individually, and then having all the weyrlings come together to practice. Today, that activity is flaming, as once the class is all able to do it, he and Emilly have set up a large collection of archery-style targets in staggered formation, clearly divided into two groups, though. He's waiting between the two clumps of targets now, the set-up nearer the lake than usual. There's probably something prophetic about that.
Talien's rushing after Svodriyth who seems to be in a particular hurry - likely to beat one big headed bronze to the class. His taunting of Talien, though silent and extending soley to her, doesn't exactly spur her on so much as it does anger her. Thus she arrives at his side seconds after he's planted himself into line, winded and glaring at the side of his head. A noodle-strengthed arm offers a weak salute to I'daur and Emilly. "We're," she puffs, "Here."
Emilly fusses with one of the targets, making sure it's aligned just right then comes around to inspect the whole line, nods to herself with satisfaction and steps away towards the outside edge of the space. Imena comes running along with Wajath, the dragonpair a little breathless and still damp apparently fresh from the baths which doesn't make much sense given what they're about to practice.
N'thei and Wyaeth arrive on time, if not even a bit early. They thump to a landing, still an imperfect process, heavy and bumpy, and the weyrling dismounts with ease. He doesn't hit his feet until after Talien's frantic announcement of her arrival, and he hides a grin behind his palm, ostensibly just wiping his lips. He strolls up alongside the bluerider, salutes to I'daur and Emilly with less vigor, and sounds far more relaxed; "We're here too, sir, ma'am."
On time? Pfft. Nikoth and A'son are the last to arrive, as per tradition it would seem. A'son looks relaxed, meanwhile the bronze is looking somewhat irritated. If dragons were good at casting annoyed glances at their riders? That's what he would be doing now. The man salutes crisply and falls into place.
Once the weyrlings are all there, I'daur straightens up, stepping over to them to raise his voice. "You all've been practicing flaming by yourself, but in a 'Fall, you're not gonna be doing it by yourself. There's going to be other people, other dragons around, things you have to hit and things you better not hit. So... that's what we're practicing today. Now, let's divide up." He's apparently already got that planned out, splitting it roughly equally by both color and actual ability as demonstrated so far. The first team ends up including A'son and Imena; the second, N'thei and Talien.
Imena shoots A'son a quick, nervous look then sidles over to join the bronzerider, Wajath trotting along seeming far more eager about this entire exercise than her rider. "I really hope no one gets burnt," she murmurs as she draws near to A'son.
N'thei raises his eyebrows at Talien, barely shy of wagging them at the bluerider, before he turns back to collect Wyaeth. The bronze was already distracted, swaggering around and looking impressive, and it takes a good ten seconds to detach him from the brown against whom he's comparing wingspans.
With her 'partner' picked out, Talien offers A'son a look that's meant to convey a 'I got this' confidence. Her blue 'hackles' Wyaeth with a stare and a poofing of his wings. Taking care of business on her end, Talien then turns to N'thei with an upward jerk of her chin in his direction - purely intended as a showing of good spirit, no doubt. Then, to other business: I'daur. "Right, gotcha. Don't hit some stuff and hit the other stuff."
A'son gives Imena the quick look over, then a shrug of his shoulders. "If you've been practicing good you won't set anyone on fire." He replies to her. A glance is thrown Talien's way and he grins a bit, shaking his head. Expression becoming even more amused as he watches N'thei. His attention eventually leads back up to I'daur as he waits with his partner of the day.
"Pretty much," I'daur drawls to Talien, smirking at her as he paces away from the groups and the well-spaced targets. "All right. Get your firestone and start feeding them--watch the tongues and think of your second stomach," the usual advice given with a wary look at Imena and Wajath, as though he doesn't quite trust them to remember however often he's said it already. "And then get yourselves in position. Whichever team can get all ten of their targets most directly and completely first gets... Oh, a couple of extra rest days, I guess," he decides, while he pauses his instructions to let them get that ready.
"Try to keep up, love. I could use the days off." N'thei says this quickly, passes by Talien with barely enough time for the words to land before he's already moved on. Shouldering a sack with relative ease, he treks over to one of the distant sets of targets and starts chucking firestone at Wyaeth. There's the same seeming carelessness in this as in everything else, the bronze catching the chunks like a kid throwing peanuts into his mouth. Crunching ensues.
Huffing out a deep sigh, Imena starts sorting through firestone carefully and passes chunks to Wajath. "Second stomach, second stomach," she chants over and over again as if to prove I'daur wrong. "Oh I'm scared," she confesses to A'son with big eyes.
Talien's hand instantly shoots up, "Can I have a new partner?" She bites her lip more out of reservation toward the reply she expects and not so much consideration for N'thei's feelings. It doesn't take a reply from I'daur to get her to drop her hand, though, because at Svodriyth's commanding cough, she slinks in his direction with a mumbled 'never mind' to I'daur. Firestone is found, fed and all second stomachs minded. Disdainful of the taste, Svodriyth's lips curl back to reveal now stained teeth as he stomps impatiently at the ground.
A'son stares at Imena as she starts to chant and confess her fear. This is one of those situations where he could actually, you know, get set on fire. His own big eyes get trained onto I'daur. A hand is raised and then, dropped, very similar to Talien's. He stares at the girl again and sighs. "It'll be okay. Nothing, bad is going to happen. Just don't set us on fire. Got it?"
"Suck it up," is I'daur's usual sage advice to Talien, nevermind the withdrawal of her hand. "It's not about liking your partner, it's about working with them." He waits until he's a safe distance away from the flaming himself before continuing. "One thing--you can't move your feet around once you set up," is his last rule for this game. The way the targets are set up, no one position, or even two, is going to make it possible for them to hit all the targets without a lot of bending, stretching, and testing the limits of their flame as they work with their partner.
N'thei smiles. The quality of the smile is tricky to gauge, possibly a faint smirk at Talien's rescinded request, possibly a fonder smile for something passing between himself and Wyaeth, for it's at the dragon he's currently looking. His smile falters, fades, and stays gone when he looks around, realizing how impossible the idea really is. He mutters to himself, "I... have... stuck with... partner..." Wyaeth chuffs amusedly.
"I'll /try/," says Imena wringing her hands a little, rubbing firestone soot all over her fingers though she doesn't notice. "Can you go first?" she whispers to Nikoth's rider.
"Tell that to /him/," Talien says with a jerk of a fisted, fire-stone clutching hand toward N'thei. The chunk is tossed to Svodriyth who, while glaring purposefully at Wyaeth, grinds it in preparation for the task at hand. Finished the prep work, she dusts her hands free. The cast-off elicits a scrunching of her nose and a curl of her lip, "Ew, it stinks." Before long, though, she's at Svodriyth's side who stands barrier between she and Those Other Guys. A look of pure concentration stills her features and further commentary and after a moment she licks a finger, sticks it in the air and cants her head to the side. Pity she's forgotten there's still a coating of firestone dust upon it and though it's as distasteful as ever, she fights to keep a straight face.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's all business, minus the jagged barb-wire barrier he puts between himself and the object of his message. << We do this right and we get ourselves some R&R. >> The 'fence' tightens, the grate of metal-on-metal a potent sound and taste. << We oughta work together, just this once. >>
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth rattles against that barbed wire like a tumbleweed trying to shake loose; << Reckon we can. Just stand where I tell ya and flame what I say to, and we'll be fine. >>
"If it'll make you feel more comfortable, sure." He replies to Imena. Then A'son is done, and he begins to feed the firestone to Nikoth. "Second stomach, the second one." He repeats several times under his breath. "Try not to be impressive today, just get the job done." Is his murmurming plea to the dragon beside him.
When all the weyrlings are well-supplied with firestone, ready to flame, I'daur finally straightens back up, sets his shoulders, and then calls: "Flame at will!"
Talien's still testing the wind or smelling her finger or doing whatever it is she's doing with her finger stuck into the air. She's still at it seconds after I'daur's called the game on; Svodriyth burps loudly and a pathetic trickle of flame eeks out of his mouth. Talien looks at N'thei - wholly embarrassed - "Ooops." Then, to Svodriyth, a gesture in the direction of the targets. "You gotta hit /them/," she commands. Svodriyth opens his mouth wide, builds himself up and gives it another go. The flame produced withers long before it reaches the target, leaving Talien looking quite perplexed.
Imena lurks behind A'son, waiting for him to prompt Nikoth to go first, handing Wajath another entirely unnecessary piece of firestone. The green chews patiently nonetheless and eagerly points herself at a target, waiting impatiently for Imena to just /get over it/ already.
Wyaeth roars out a big, gut full of flame, crisps a target down to the frame of it. He's just about set to belch out another long stream of fire when both he and N'thei swing their heads around to peer at Svodriyth and his defective face. "I know he's runty, but that can't be the best he can do." Twin tendrils of smoke billow from Wyaeth's nostrils as he snorts agreement.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Do it bigger! >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's barb-wire barrier is all rusty and spotty now. << Bigger, >> he confirms, flaring a bright flame in the forefront of his mind, << BIGGER! >> he booms seconds later. << Gotcha, bub. I can do that. >> Echoes of 'biggerbigger' fade out as he does.
When I'daur gives the call to go, A'son gives his own to Nikoth. The bronze lets loose an impressive, long and strong flame. Targets are hit, he's doing great. Then he apparently decides to flame one more time. Perhaps spurned on by Wyaeth's show? However this flame is larger and maybe it's the wind, or the twist of Nikoth's head or something. But the flame blows back. The flame lands burning the bronze below the jaw and upper neck and A'son also. He gets lucky and it misses his face, landing instead on his upper torso-y area where it goes through the shirt to burn him there. There's painful howls from both of them as Nikoth stops flaming and A'son beats at his shirt frantically in pain. Oh, it burned off some of his hair. But he needed a haircut anyway, right?
Imena lets out a little shriek of dismay as Nikoth's flame goes awry and she flattens herself onto the ground, hands over her head. Wajath ducks, hovering over her rider, though there's also an audible snort from the green for Imena's behavior.
"Shit," says I'daur eloquently, just as the flame drafts backward. "Hold it!" he calls a stop to the flaming now, so he can hurry forward to A'son to get him as he's injured, support him as needed as he glances over the woundings quickly. "A'son. To the infirmary, both of you, can you walk? Emilly, can you watch the rest of them, please?" A glance around for the greenrider, frowning deeply.
Emilly steps forward from her watchful position on the sidelines, concern writ large on her face. "Of course, go," she says simply, then turns to the group. "No extra flames! Keep it under control!" she reminds.
Roasting through his own targets, missing once but fast to make up for it, Wyaeth takes frequent peers toward Svodriyth and his un-hit targets. N'thei's reaction to the blue's lack of prowess is a lot more-- confused. He even stops watching Wyaeth, who is just showing off anyway, and takes to sending questioning looks at Talien and her dragon.
Talien's play ends abruptly as various sensory relays come her way. Howls of pain, the smell of burned hair, skin and fabric - it all has her paling and starting in place. She wants to move, but something keeps her back. And then, without much warning, she's turning to face I'daur and the white has turned to green. Svodriyth's offering reassuring noises in Nikoth's direction, though also keeping a firm shoulder against Talien as the various commands to stay and curb fire-starting tenancies is issued. N'thei's questioning look earns a shaky and sick sounding, "That was one of those things... wasn't suppose to burn..."
A'son is still beating at his shirt, even if it isn't on fire on any more. There's a look of sheer panic and pain. Though it's not clear right now who's worse off. Nikoth is throwing a fit, unable full understand exactly what just happened. First okay and then burning? And soon the man has abandoned his own burn wounds to try and calm the panicked bronze. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not going to drop dead. But damn it hurts." He replies in between clenched teeth. Nikoth's eyes are whirling yellow and orange violently and only what must be a strongly executed will power on his rider's part keeps him in line and moving away from the rest of the weyrling class, following I'daur as they're led away.
"What?" N'thei turns on one heel, swings around to face in the direction where A'son and Nikoth were not so very long ago. "Oh. Well." His own bemused expression is mirrored in the little trickle of slowed flame that leaks out of the side of Wyaeth's mouth, trailed by another gust of smoke out of his nose when he snorts once more. There's no need to hear his thoughts when they're written all over his face: Amateurs.
Perhaps unwilling to leave the rest of them without him too long, even under Emilly's good guidance, I'daur makes his trip to the infirmary with A'son brief, and in a relatively short time, after leaving the bronzerider in the good hands of the healers on duty with a promise of returning to check in as soon as he's finished with the others, the weyrlingmaster's limping back toward the lake, face more lined than before. "All right, let's start wrapping this up," he tells them grimly.
Imena's still cowering down on the ground and Emilly bends down to help her up, with a hand under her elbow. "C'mon, on your feet, rider," she urges. "It's going to be worse in Fall, up and at 'em. Let's see Wajath's flame. I'm sure A'son will be all right. I'daur's gotten him squared away."
N'thei's comment garners a scowl from Talien, "You're such a - a-" Her lips purse fiercely, so fiercely she's left floundering for an insult. Pursing her lips at I'daur for good measure, she turns back to Svodriyth and stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. Svodriyth burps another measly little mini-flame that does little to threaten his still standing targets.
N'thei sounds hopeful of the answer; "What am I, Talien?" He smiles his broadest, though the expression is fleeting. Frustrated to the point of intervention, Wyaeth swaggers right over toward Svodriyth's targets with every intention of nailing them himself. "I don't think we've quiet finished yet, sir." A long tape of flame crisps one of Svodriyth's targets, then he leans toward another, one nearer to his own rider.
Emilly gets a sniffly Imena up off the ground and the greenrider murmurs a few more soft words to the weyrling. Finally Imena gets it together and she goes over to Wajath and gets the green flaming at the targets, trying to make up for the loss of her partner. Where Imena is reluctant and fearful, Wajath is bold and efficient. Bam, bam, bam, she nails targets in rapid succession.
"Talien. Give him some more firestone and see if that helps," I'daur says sharply, probably more so than he intended, as he keeps things carrying on just a little longer--apparently intending to end the lesson on a good note. "Wyaeth, if you've done your own set let Svodriyth try already."
Seteth is usually the most calm of the young dragons, but she pounds upwards towards Wyaneth and his show off to growl loudly, glaring at the larger bronze with red eyes. Madison stromps over to N'thei. "Why... do... you have..to be so incorrigable?" She asks. "Why do you have to be so stupid!?" She asks, looking at him with her fists shaking. "Why on ..." She growls. "Stupid!"
"Oh come on! He's cheating!" Talien complains loudly to I'daur as Wyaeth starts in on Svodriyth's targets. The blue, irritated, attempts to check Wyaeth from doing as much - bodily - but he's a small blue against a very determined bronze and when he pushes against Wyaeth, it's /him/ who looses ground. Talien, trying to side-step the duo and half bumped during the course of their struggle, inadvertently places herself face first into the tail-end of that flame. Scarcely a second later, there's a sharp cry from her as she stumbles backward, her hands clutched over a face that's gone very, very red.
Emilly is still standing near Imena, making sure the Weyrling is holding up as Wajath finishes off the last of her and Nikoth's targets with a smug look. Talien's cry of pain, whips the greenrider's head around though and she starts forward, with a clipped. "Stop flaming. Imena, make sure Wajath doesn't do any more."
N'thei, having yet to rise to Madison's bait, goes on avoiding the hook. He looks the stomping, fist-shaking little girl up and down a second, then takes a breath in preparation to say something in Talien's direction, but the something dies on his lips. Unwittingly, he echoes I'daur from only a few minutes ago; "Shit." Only, he goes on to repeat it about a half-dozen more times, reaching to push Madison out from between him and the burninated Talien, taking out a handkerchief like it will possibly serve any useful purpose. Wyaeth clips off his gout of flame so abruptly that you have to know his lips got a little charred there, and his whirling eyes fix on the bluerider, confused.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's anger at his perfect plan being foiled is potent enough that he doesn't quite bother with words. Until that last little burst of flame is offered. Svodriyth, already sensing victory, is all set and ready to lord it over Wyaeth. Only there's a surprised little 'pop' of his mind and a slow fizzle of his presence away. There's orange, too. Lots of it.
Dragon> Wyaeth and Svodriyth sense that Nikoth was quiet, having been calmed from his own pain from earlier. Then there's a flash, his angry and aggravation renewed once more. Demanding in that super loud slam of a drum that can only be him, << Svodriyth?! Wyaeth! What? What /happened/?! >>
Wyaeth> Sionath, Zunaeth, Nikoth, and Svodriyth sense that Wyaeth lacks his usual gritty bravado. << It was an accident! >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath mournfully washes limp waves up on mental shores. << Yes. But it should not have happened. You were showing off too much. >>
Dragon> Nikoth and Wyaeth sense that Svodriyth's simple, quite distracted reply is simply an image of a Very Big Headed Wyaeth. 'nuff said, right?
Wyaeth> Nikoth and Svodriyth sense that Wyaeth doesn't know, and he doesn't try to describe it, and he's not an image-centric dragon, so he doesn't share the picture either. See what you get when you have to leave class early? Hmph.
Imena's crying in earnest now, blubbering shamelessly and this time, Emilly turns and sends her back to the Barracks to work it off. "Madison ..." she calls over to the other green Weyrling. "Come with me please."
"You're on the same team, how is it cheating?" I'daur is trying to follow that logic for the briefest of seconds, eyeing the pair as they finish up. And then--mishap. He tenses as he sees it happen; he's already moving again as quickly as he can toward Talien to catch her. He adds his own, "Shit," to the mix, and this time doesn't waste any moments in actually calling for the healers to come get her, unlike he did with A'son. They are, at least, blessedly quick in arriving, complete with stretcher, for this more serious injury.
Talien's grateful - quite grateful for any assistance that the first person she bumps into is the one she sticks to. Dropping a hand from it's press over an eye, Talien attempts to wrap her fingers in an ironclad hold around N'thei's wrist before looking up at him. A mask of blistered and raw skin surrounds the upper half of her face and eyes, her cheeks are streaked with tears and it's this lovely mask that faces N'thei. "Think I got something in them.... my eyes." is her shaky observation.
Ywain goes over from the western side of the bowl.
Ywain has arrived.
Defensively, N'thei snaps at Emilly; "You want to tell her to lay off? It was an accident!" The rider is worked up, but Wyaeth still seems perplexed, unable to comprehend how /he/ could have done something /wrong/; these things simply do not happen. He clamps his hand back around Talien's and scoops his arm around the bluerider below her shoulders, starts to usher her toward the stretcher. Quietly, calmly, close to her ear; "It's a little more than something in your eyes, Talien." Lucky for Talien, she can't see the narrowed eyes and pursed frown in reaction to the blisters.
While Emilly herds the weyrlings left up and toward the barracks for some measure of damage control, the healers are carting Talien rapidly off to the infirmary to join A'son. I'daur says, to N'thei, "You, wait in my office--I'll be there in a minute." He's going with the healers, to keep his own watch over his injured charges.
Ywain happens along, actually, on his way to somewhere else. And as usual, he has one or the other of his bagged drums with him, and this time it appears there's a glow hanging from the bag, so as to light his way fairly well, or to draw attention to him; it's never really clear with the odd harper.
"Oh." Talien's reply to N'thei maintains an entirely dumbfounded state. The hold on his wrist breaks free when there's people tugging her away - Svodriyth's doing his utmost best to keep pace with the group and just ahead of I'daur.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's begrudgingly enters - wary and upset, but without immediate blame - << Doll face- >> His wince is momentary, << Talien says I gotta say thanks to the guy who helped her. That'd be him. >> Him meaning N'thei. A belated pause, and then, << So thanks. >> He departs without delay.
N'thei releases Talien with obvious reluctance, the look he shoots to the healer that divests him of the bluerider one heavy with warning. Shocked or not, he's still big, and he can still sell menace with a hard look. He's using up his teeth as fast as he's grinding them when he nods to I'daur; "Yes, sir. In your office." /Again/. With Wyaeth shadowing the healers, still puzzled as to how this could possibly have happened, ever!, they both look kind of grim on parting company.
Whatever is transpiring is interesting enough to halt the harper, but hasn't the inviting allure to draw him any closer. The healers are recognized, studied, and the people and their body language, observed. Dragons, as well, enter into Ywain's calculations, to determine a summary mood here.
You stride into the barracks.
IC Date: 4/6/13
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 evening is mostly hidden behind dark clouds that cover the sky, though when the clouds clear briefly you can see the stars. The smaller Belior shines in half moon while Timor is a nearly full waxing gibbous. It is raining heavily, the water coming down in torrents. A light wind blows and the spring air is warm enough, with only a slight chill. The ground beneath your feet is wet from the last storm.
Over the last few days, I'daur has continued his routine of teaching the beginnings of new things individually, and then having all the weyrlings come together to practice. Today, that activity is flaming, as once the class is all able to do it, he and Emilly have set up a large collection of archery-style targets in staggered formation, clearly divided into two groups, though. He's waiting between the two clumps of targets now, the set-up nearer the lake than usual. There's probably something prophetic about that.
Talien's rushing after Svodriyth who seems to be in a particular hurry - likely to beat one big headed bronze to the class. His taunting of Talien, though silent and extending soley to her, doesn't exactly spur her on so much as it does anger her. Thus she arrives at his side seconds after he's planted himself into line, winded and glaring at the side of his head. A noodle-strengthed arm offers a weak salute to I'daur and Emilly. "We're," she puffs, "Here."
Emilly fusses with one of the targets, making sure it's aligned just right then comes around to inspect the whole line, nods to herself with satisfaction and steps away towards the outside edge of the space. Imena comes running along with Wajath, the dragonpair a little breathless and still damp apparently fresh from the baths which doesn't make much sense given what they're about to practice.
N'thei and Wyaeth arrive on time, if not even a bit early. They thump to a landing, still an imperfect process, heavy and bumpy, and the weyrling dismounts with ease. He doesn't hit his feet until after Talien's frantic announcement of her arrival, and he hides a grin behind his palm, ostensibly just wiping his lips. He strolls up alongside the bluerider, salutes to I'daur and Emilly with less vigor, and sounds far more relaxed; "We're here too, sir, ma'am."
On time? Pfft. Nikoth and A'son are the last to arrive, as per tradition it would seem. A'son looks relaxed, meanwhile the bronze is looking somewhat irritated. If dragons were good at casting annoyed glances at their riders? That's what he would be doing now. The man salutes crisply and falls into place.
Once the weyrlings are all there, I'daur straightens up, stepping over to them to raise his voice. "You all've been practicing flaming by yourself, but in a 'Fall, you're not gonna be doing it by yourself. There's going to be other people, other dragons around, things you have to hit and things you better not hit. So... that's what we're practicing today. Now, let's divide up." He's apparently already got that planned out, splitting it roughly equally by both color and actual ability as demonstrated so far. The first team ends up including A'son and Imena; the second, N'thei and Talien.
Imena shoots A'son a quick, nervous look then sidles over to join the bronzerider, Wajath trotting along seeming far more eager about this entire exercise than her rider. "I really hope no one gets burnt," she murmurs as she draws near to A'son.
N'thei raises his eyebrows at Talien, barely shy of wagging them at the bluerider, before he turns back to collect Wyaeth. The bronze was already distracted, swaggering around and looking impressive, and it takes a good ten seconds to detach him from the brown against whom he's comparing wingspans.
With her 'partner' picked out, Talien offers A'son a look that's meant to convey a 'I got this' confidence. Her blue 'hackles' Wyaeth with a stare and a poofing of his wings. Taking care of business on her end, Talien then turns to N'thei with an upward jerk of her chin in his direction - purely intended as a showing of good spirit, no doubt. Then, to other business: I'daur. "Right, gotcha. Don't hit some stuff and hit the other stuff."
A'son gives Imena the quick look over, then a shrug of his shoulders. "If you've been practicing good you won't set anyone on fire." He replies to her. A glance is thrown Talien's way and he grins a bit, shaking his head. Expression becoming even more amused as he watches N'thei. His attention eventually leads back up to I'daur as he waits with his partner of the day.
"Pretty much," I'daur drawls to Talien, smirking at her as he paces away from the groups and the well-spaced targets. "All right. Get your firestone and start feeding them--watch the tongues and think of your second stomach," the usual advice given with a wary look at Imena and Wajath, as though he doesn't quite trust them to remember however often he's said it already. "And then get yourselves in position. Whichever team can get all ten of their targets most directly and completely first gets... Oh, a couple of extra rest days, I guess," he decides, while he pauses his instructions to let them get that ready.
"Try to keep up, love. I could use the days off." N'thei says this quickly, passes by Talien with barely enough time for the words to land before he's already moved on. Shouldering a sack with relative ease, he treks over to one of the distant sets of targets and starts chucking firestone at Wyaeth. There's the same seeming carelessness in this as in everything else, the bronze catching the chunks like a kid throwing peanuts into his mouth. Crunching ensues.
Huffing out a deep sigh, Imena starts sorting through firestone carefully and passes chunks to Wajath. "Second stomach, second stomach," she chants over and over again as if to prove I'daur wrong. "Oh I'm scared," she confesses to A'son with big eyes.
Talien's hand instantly shoots up, "Can I have a new partner?" She bites her lip more out of reservation toward the reply she expects and not so much consideration for N'thei's feelings. It doesn't take a reply from I'daur to get her to drop her hand, though, because at Svodriyth's commanding cough, she slinks in his direction with a mumbled 'never mind' to I'daur. Firestone is found, fed and all second stomachs minded. Disdainful of the taste, Svodriyth's lips curl back to reveal now stained teeth as he stomps impatiently at the ground.
A'son stares at Imena as she starts to chant and confess her fear. This is one of those situations where he could actually, you know, get set on fire. His own big eyes get trained onto I'daur. A hand is raised and then, dropped, very similar to Talien's. He stares at the girl again and sighs. "It'll be okay. Nothing, bad is going to happen. Just don't set us on fire. Got it?"
"Suck it up," is I'daur's usual sage advice to Talien, nevermind the withdrawal of her hand. "It's not about liking your partner, it's about working with them." He waits until he's a safe distance away from the flaming himself before continuing. "One thing--you can't move your feet around once you set up," is his last rule for this game. The way the targets are set up, no one position, or even two, is going to make it possible for them to hit all the targets without a lot of bending, stretching, and testing the limits of their flame as they work with their partner.
N'thei smiles. The quality of the smile is tricky to gauge, possibly a faint smirk at Talien's rescinded request, possibly a fonder smile for something passing between himself and Wyaeth, for it's at the dragon he's currently looking. His smile falters, fades, and stays gone when he looks around, realizing how impossible the idea really is. He mutters to himself, "I... have... stuck with... partner..." Wyaeth chuffs amusedly.
"I'll /try/," says Imena wringing her hands a little, rubbing firestone soot all over her fingers though she doesn't notice. "Can you go first?" she whispers to Nikoth's rider.
"Tell that to /him/," Talien says with a jerk of a fisted, fire-stone clutching hand toward N'thei. The chunk is tossed to Svodriyth who, while glaring purposefully at Wyaeth, grinds it in preparation for the task at hand. Finished the prep work, she dusts her hands free. The cast-off elicits a scrunching of her nose and a curl of her lip, "Ew, it stinks." Before long, though, she's at Svodriyth's side who stands barrier between she and Those Other Guys. A look of pure concentration stills her features and further commentary and after a moment she licks a finger, sticks it in the air and cants her head to the side. Pity she's forgotten there's still a coating of firestone dust upon it and though it's as distasteful as ever, she fights to keep a straight face.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's all business, minus the jagged barb-wire barrier he puts between himself and the object of his message. << We do this right and we get ourselves some R&R. >> The 'fence' tightens, the grate of metal-on-metal a potent sound and taste. << We oughta work together, just this once. >>
Wyaeth> Svodriyth senses that Wyaeth rattles against that barbed wire like a tumbleweed trying to shake loose; << Reckon we can. Just stand where I tell ya and flame what I say to, and we'll be fine. >>
"If it'll make you feel more comfortable, sure." He replies to Imena. Then A'son is done, and he begins to feed the firestone to Nikoth. "Second stomach, the second one." He repeats several times under his breath. "Try not to be impressive today, just get the job done." Is his murmurming plea to the dragon beside him.
When all the weyrlings are well-supplied with firestone, ready to flame, I'daur finally straightens back up, sets his shoulders, and then calls: "Flame at will!"
Talien's still testing the wind or smelling her finger or doing whatever it is she's doing with her finger stuck into the air. She's still at it seconds after I'daur's called the game on; Svodriyth burps loudly and a pathetic trickle of flame eeks out of his mouth. Talien looks at N'thei - wholly embarrassed - "Ooops." Then, to Svodriyth, a gesture in the direction of the targets. "You gotta hit /them/," she commands. Svodriyth opens his mouth wide, builds himself up and gives it another go. The flame produced withers long before it reaches the target, leaving Talien looking quite perplexed.
Imena lurks behind A'son, waiting for him to prompt Nikoth to go first, handing Wajath another entirely unnecessary piece of firestone. The green chews patiently nonetheless and eagerly points herself at a target, waiting impatiently for Imena to just /get over it/ already.
Wyaeth roars out a big, gut full of flame, crisps a target down to the frame of it. He's just about set to belch out another long stream of fire when both he and N'thei swing their heads around to peer at Svodriyth and his defective face. "I know he's runty, but that can't be the best he can do." Twin tendrils of smoke billow from Wyaeth's nostrils as he snorts agreement.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Svodriyth with << Do it bigger! >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's barb-wire barrier is all rusty and spotty now. << Bigger, >> he confirms, flaring a bright flame in the forefront of his mind, << BIGGER! >> he booms seconds later. << Gotcha, bub. I can do that. >> Echoes of 'biggerbigger' fade out as he does.
When I'daur gives the call to go, A'son gives his own to Nikoth. The bronze lets loose an impressive, long and strong flame. Targets are hit, he's doing great. Then he apparently decides to flame one more time. Perhaps spurned on by Wyaeth's show? However this flame is larger and maybe it's the wind, or the twist of Nikoth's head or something. But the flame blows back. The flame lands burning the bronze below the jaw and upper neck and A'son also. He gets lucky and it misses his face, landing instead on his upper torso-y area where it goes through the shirt to burn him there. There's painful howls from both of them as Nikoth stops flaming and A'son beats at his shirt frantically in pain. Oh, it burned off some of his hair. But he needed a haircut anyway, right?
Imena lets out a little shriek of dismay as Nikoth's flame goes awry and she flattens herself onto the ground, hands over her head. Wajath ducks, hovering over her rider, though there's also an audible snort from the green for Imena's behavior.
"Shit," says I'daur eloquently, just as the flame drafts backward. "Hold it!" he calls a stop to the flaming now, so he can hurry forward to A'son to get him as he's injured, support him as needed as he glances over the woundings quickly. "A'son. To the infirmary, both of you, can you walk? Emilly, can you watch the rest of them, please?" A glance around for the greenrider, frowning deeply.
Emilly steps forward from her watchful position on the sidelines, concern writ large on her face. "Of course, go," she says simply, then turns to the group. "No extra flames! Keep it under control!" she reminds.
Roasting through his own targets, missing once but fast to make up for it, Wyaeth takes frequent peers toward Svodriyth and his un-hit targets. N'thei's reaction to the blue's lack of prowess is a lot more-- confused. He even stops watching Wyaeth, who is just showing off anyway, and takes to sending questioning looks at Talien and her dragon.
Talien's play ends abruptly as various sensory relays come her way. Howls of pain, the smell of burned hair, skin and fabric - it all has her paling and starting in place. She wants to move, but something keeps her back. And then, without much warning, she's turning to face I'daur and the white has turned to green. Svodriyth's offering reassuring noises in Nikoth's direction, though also keeping a firm shoulder against Talien as the various commands to stay and curb fire-starting tenancies is issued. N'thei's questioning look earns a shaky and sick sounding, "That was one of those things... wasn't suppose to burn..."
A'son is still beating at his shirt, even if it isn't on fire on any more. There's a look of sheer panic and pain. Though it's not clear right now who's worse off. Nikoth is throwing a fit, unable full understand exactly what just happened. First okay and then burning? And soon the man has abandoned his own burn wounds to try and calm the panicked bronze. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not going to drop dead. But damn it hurts." He replies in between clenched teeth. Nikoth's eyes are whirling yellow and orange violently and only what must be a strongly executed will power on his rider's part keeps him in line and moving away from the rest of the weyrling class, following I'daur as they're led away.
"What?" N'thei turns on one heel, swings around to face in the direction where A'son and Nikoth were not so very long ago. "Oh. Well." His own bemused expression is mirrored in the little trickle of slowed flame that leaks out of the side of Wyaeth's mouth, trailed by another gust of smoke out of his nose when he snorts once more. There's no need to hear his thoughts when they're written all over his face: Amateurs.
Perhaps unwilling to leave the rest of them without him too long, even under Emilly's good guidance, I'daur makes his trip to the infirmary with A'son brief, and in a relatively short time, after leaving the bronzerider in the good hands of the healers on duty with a promise of returning to check in as soon as he's finished with the others, the weyrlingmaster's limping back toward the lake, face more lined than before. "All right, let's start wrapping this up," he tells them grimly.
Imena's still cowering down on the ground and Emilly bends down to help her up, with a hand under her elbow. "C'mon, on your feet, rider," she urges. "It's going to be worse in Fall, up and at 'em. Let's see Wajath's flame. I'm sure A'son will be all right. I'daur's gotten him squared away."
N'thei's comment garners a scowl from Talien, "You're such a - a-" Her lips purse fiercely, so fiercely she's left floundering for an insult. Pursing her lips at I'daur for good measure, she turns back to Svodriyth and stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest. Svodriyth burps another measly little mini-flame that does little to threaten his still standing targets.
N'thei sounds hopeful of the answer; "What am I, Talien?" He smiles his broadest, though the expression is fleeting. Frustrated to the point of intervention, Wyaeth swaggers right over toward Svodriyth's targets with every intention of nailing them himself. "I don't think we've quiet finished yet, sir." A long tape of flame crisps one of Svodriyth's targets, then he leans toward another, one nearer to his own rider.
Emilly gets a sniffly Imena up off the ground and the greenrider murmurs a few more soft words to the weyrling. Finally Imena gets it together and she goes over to Wajath and gets the green flaming at the targets, trying to make up for the loss of her partner. Where Imena is reluctant and fearful, Wajath is bold and efficient. Bam, bam, bam, she nails targets in rapid succession.
"Talien. Give him some more firestone and see if that helps," I'daur says sharply, probably more so than he intended, as he keeps things carrying on just a little longer--apparently intending to end the lesson on a good note. "Wyaeth, if you've done your own set let Svodriyth try already."
Seteth is usually the most calm of the young dragons, but she pounds upwards towards Wyaneth and his show off to growl loudly, glaring at the larger bronze with red eyes. Madison stromps over to N'thei. "Why... do... you have..to be so incorrigable?" She asks. "Why do you have to be so stupid!?" She asks, looking at him with her fists shaking. "Why on ..." She growls. "Stupid!"
"Oh come on! He's cheating!" Talien complains loudly to I'daur as Wyaeth starts in on Svodriyth's targets. The blue, irritated, attempts to check Wyaeth from doing as much - bodily - but he's a small blue against a very determined bronze and when he pushes against Wyaeth, it's /him/ who looses ground. Talien, trying to side-step the duo and half bumped during the course of their struggle, inadvertently places herself face first into the tail-end of that flame. Scarcely a second later, there's a sharp cry from her as she stumbles backward, her hands clutched over a face that's gone very, very red.
Emilly is still standing near Imena, making sure the Weyrling is holding up as Wajath finishes off the last of her and Nikoth's targets with a smug look. Talien's cry of pain, whips the greenrider's head around though and she starts forward, with a clipped. "Stop flaming. Imena, make sure Wajath doesn't do any more."
N'thei, having yet to rise to Madison's bait, goes on avoiding the hook. He looks the stomping, fist-shaking little girl up and down a second, then takes a breath in preparation to say something in Talien's direction, but the something dies on his lips. Unwittingly, he echoes I'daur from only a few minutes ago; "Shit." Only, he goes on to repeat it about a half-dozen more times, reaching to push Madison out from between him and the burninated Talien, taking out a handkerchief like it will possibly serve any useful purpose. Wyaeth clips off his gout of flame so abruptly that you have to know his lips got a little charred there, and his whirling eyes fix on the bluerider, confused.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's anger at his perfect plan being foiled is potent enough that he doesn't quite bother with words. Until that last little burst of flame is offered. Svodriyth, already sensing victory, is all set and ready to lord it over Wyaeth. Only there's a surprised little 'pop' of his mind and a slow fizzle of his presence away. There's orange, too. Lots of it.
Dragon> Wyaeth and Svodriyth sense that Nikoth was quiet, having been calmed from his own pain from earlier. Then there's a flash, his angry and aggravation renewed once more. Demanding in that super loud slam of a drum that can only be him, << Svodriyth?! Wyaeth! What? What /happened/?! >>
Wyaeth> Sionath, Zunaeth, Nikoth, and Svodriyth sense that Wyaeth lacks his usual gritty bravado. << It was an accident! >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Sionath mournfully washes limp waves up on mental shores. << Yes. But it should not have happened. You were showing off too much. >>
Dragon> Nikoth and Wyaeth sense that Svodriyth's simple, quite distracted reply is simply an image of a Very Big Headed Wyaeth. 'nuff said, right?
Wyaeth> Nikoth and Svodriyth sense that Wyaeth doesn't know, and he doesn't try to describe it, and he's not an image-centric dragon, so he doesn't share the picture either. See what you get when you have to leave class early? Hmph.
Imena's crying in earnest now, blubbering shamelessly and this time, Emilly turns and sends her back to the Barracks to work it off. "Madison ..." she calls over to the other green Weyrling. "Come with me please."
"You're on the same team, how is it cheating?" I'daur is trying to follow that logic for the briefest of seconds, eyeing the pair as they finish up. And then--mishap. He tenses as he sees it happen; he's already moving again as quickly as he can toward Talien to catch her. He adds his own, "Shit," to the mix, and this time doesn't waste any moments in actually calling for the healers to come get her, unlike he did with A'son. They are, at least, blessedly quick in arriving, complete with stretcher, for this more serious injury.
Talien's grateful - quite grateful for any assistance that the first person she bumps into is the one she sticks to. Dropping a hand from it's press over an eye, Talien attempts to wrap her fingers in an ironclad hold around N'thei's wrist before looking up at him. A mask of blistered and raw skin surrounds the upper half of her face and eyes, her cheeks are streaked with tears and it's this lovely mask that faces N'thei. "Think I got something in them.... my eyes." is her shaky observation.
Ywain goes over from the western side of the bowl.
Ywain has arrived.
Defensively, N'thei snaps at Emilly; "You want to tell her to lay off? It was an accident!" The rider is worked up, but Wyaeth still seems perplexed, unable to comprehend how /he/ could have done something /wrong/; these things simply do not happen. He clamps his hand back around Talien's and scoops his arm around the bluerider below her shoulders, starts to usher her toward the stretcher. Quietly, calmly, close to her ear; "It's a little more than something in your eyes, Talien." Lucky for Talien, she can't see the narrowed eyes and pursed frown in reaction to the blisters.
While Emilly herds the weyrlings left up and toward the barracks for some measure of damage control, the healers are carting Talien rapidly off to the infirmary to join A'son. I'daur says, to N'thei, "You, wait in my office--I'll be there in a minute." He's going with the healers, to keep his own watch over his injured charges.
Ywain happens along, actually, on his way to somewhere else. And as usual, he has one or the other of his bagged drums with him, and this time it appears there's a glow hanging from the bag, so as to light his way fairly well, or to draw attention to him; it's never really clear with the odd harper.
"Oh." Talien's reply to N'thei maintains an entirely dumbfounded state. The hold on his wrist breaks free when there's people tugging her away - Svodriyth's doing his utmost best to keep pace with the group and just ahead of I'daur.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Svodriyth's begrudgingly enters - wary and upset, but without immediate blame - << Doll face- >> His wince is momentary, << Talien says I gotta say thanks to the guy who helped her. That'd be him. >> Him meaning N'thei. A belated pause, and then, << So thanks. >> He departs without delay.
N'thei releases Talien with obvious reluctance, the look he shoots to the healer that divests him of the bluerider one heavy with warning. Shocked or not, he's still big, and he can still sell menace with a hard look. He's using up his teeth as fast as he's grinding them when he nods to I'daur; "Yes, sir. In your office." /Again/. With Wyaeth shadowing the healers, still puzzled as to how this could possibly have happened, ever!, they both look kind of grim on parting company.
Whatever is transpiring is interesting enough to halt the harper, but hasn't the inviting allure to draw him any closer. The healers are recognized, studied, and the people and their body language, observed. Dragons, as well, enter into Ywain's calculations, to determine a summary mood here.
You stride into the barracks.