[Log] Mohawk Time!

[brazenbronzer]

Who: E'dre, Fraya, I'daur, Lujayn, Niena, Persie, Viviana
When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 15
Where: Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Persie and I'daur give the weyrlings new haircuts. Lujayn is the first one, Niena is the good one, Viviana is the hysterical one, Fraya is the one that beat them to it, and E'dre is the bald one.
Notes: By the end of these couple of days, all the weyrlings will end up with haircuts: the guys with your basic crewcut courtesy of I'daur, the girls with some variation on your basic chin-length bob by Persie (who is much better at actually making the new haircut look good). Also, Persie with scissors going "Got your nose!" is a very scary thing.

Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
     This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
     On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.

Contents:
Viviana
Rielsath
Lujayn
Persie

Obvious exits:
Bowl Weyrling Barracks

There are few things about Persie that could really be considered scary: it's not the ready smile or the scrawny limbs or the wide, innocent and confused look she often has in her eyes. Oh no. But today she's a little scary. Today, Persie is standing behind an empty chair, hair of all colors fallen in clumps at her feet and a pair of shears in her hand. Currently, she's got one eye closed and is peering past the blades at I'daur, pretending to snip off various part of his face. "Oops, there goes your nose!" she giggles rather maniacally.

And I'daur is just leaning there, up against his desk, with the blankest of looks on his face. "You been into my liquor again?" is the question on his lips as he shuffles sideways, around the end of the desk until he can get in the drawer where there's always at least one half-emptied bottle of said liquor to be found. It's still there now, as he looks from it to Persie speculatively, and finally settles for pulling it out to take a pull himself. "Where's the next one?" he asks then, with a nod toward that empty chair. Then, an afterthought, with a quick smirk, "Try to leave the ears on this time."

Viviana idly taps a rolled up hide on her thigh as she walks into the training room, her lips pursed in thought. So lost in thought is she that she automatically heads to the weyrlingmaster's desk, not giving the rest of the room a second, or for that matter, a first glance. Her long braid is tucked neatly down her back but it bobs with her every step up to the 'in' box. Stuffing the message where it belongs, alloting I'daur and Persie a 'sir and ma'am, she pivots and moseys along toward the bowl once again. She's on autopilot, she is.

Lujayn has been summoned by whatever unfortunate Weyrling to have come before, now standing in doorway to the training room and looking between Persie and I'daur with suspicion - especially after the former starts brandishing her shears about. Lu's hair isn't /that/ long, is it? "I volunteer Viviana," She sidesteps quickly when the greenrider enters, trying to block her exit. "Vivy, you got the word about haircuts then?" Lu asks brightly, doing her best to keep a distance between herself and the scary rider with sharp things.

"Maaaaaaybe!" Persie sing songs impishly in regard to the liquor. Scary. "Maybe you're next and we'll clip really close along the sides and leave a nice long strip on the top. You'd look like a runner." And that does seem to make her smile rather darkly gleeful. And then Viviana and Lujayn come in and the weyrlingmaster's assistant all but squeaks. "Who's next? Viviana? Want me to take care of that braid for you?" She does the squinty-eyed snipsnip as if she's slicing off the long hair. "Lujayn?" who gets the same treatment, though with a much more all-over sort of snipping that might be the scariest thing yet.

"What, don't think we oughta start out small, work our way up?" I'daur drawls in answer to Lujayn. He raises a brow and gestures at the goldrider's shorter hair, then Viviana's long braid. Heckling them is a nice distraction from Persie's desire to mohawk him, at any rate, though he can't help raking one hand through his own already close-shorn grey hair and shooting his greenriding assistant a distinctly wary look. Time for another drink. "Promise she knows what she's doing. More or less," he tells the pair of weyrlings. "One of you, there, anyway." And he nods toward the chair, but leaves it up to them to wrestle for it.

/That/ wakes up Viviana and her eyes widen in shock. "Volunteer? You know that's not a thing you do, Lujayn, ever! You can't volunteer someone. You can volunteer yourself though ... so do have fun doing that. I think Ashmyth needs me ----" Never mind the little green is deep in a well deserved nap after morning exercises. Viviana tsks at her fellow weyrling but does a quick step toward the door, pulling her braid over her shoulder to hold it safe and sound and attached to her head. Turning back, only to call back to Persie, she says brightly. "No thank you, it was a lovely offer though ma'am,. thank you for being so thoughtful. It was just so /sweet/ of you to think of me, Lujayn but I insist, you deserve it much more than I do."

"I did volunteer you. Your hair is longer than mine." Lujayn restates, either completely missing or ignoring the scolding. She's not too keen on taking a step towards that chair while Persie is snip-happy. "Why don't you let her cut your hair, then?" Something other than just the weyrling's thoughts is coming through in this bold question to I'daur, most probably Rielsath's own belligerence. "I'll do it if you go first; it sounds like she really wants to give you a trim.." Looking to Persie hopefully, not willing to actually force Viviana back towards the barber seat.

Persie is, as most weyrlings are finding out, not the 'putting her foot down' sort and so when Lujayn and Viviana balk at the chair and the scissors, the blonde greenrider just turns to gives I'daur an imploring look: big eyes, helpless little pout. And she gives her shears a single, sad and forlorn *schnick* for all the cutting they're not allowed to do.

I'daur suggests, when Viviana leans on the excuse of Ashmyth, "She can wait, or she can come watch. Won't take long, way Persie does it. Now sit." The green weyrling's obvious reluctance and escape attempts to take her seat apparently makes up his mind about who's next, and along with that order he points a finger at the chair. He adds a beat later, with a look to Lujayn, "S'it look like mine needs trimming up? Besides, who's weyrlingmaster here?" The last lament is accompanied by a long drink and a shuffle sideways that puts the bulky desk firmly between him and Persie. He doesn't quite meet those big eyes, either.

Viviana has utterly no sympathy for the rejected shears. Tucking her braid down her back, under her shirt, she shoots another look Lujayn's way. "Since you are going to be leading one day, why don't you go show me, the poor little further follower, just what a wonderful role model you are..." She sits alright, as commanded, in the first chair available, near the door. "Yes sir, sitting."

Lujayn does move closer when Viviana sits, more to get a good look than to show she's willing to go under the chop. "Of course, sir," She intones flatly to I'daur, but turns from Viviana to see Rielsath sneaking her way into the training room - not so easy now that she's grown a fair bit from when she was a hatchling. If Ashmyth is invited to watch, surely /she/ gets to as well. "I'll go as soon as I see she doesn't really cut off ears," She replies to Viviana, looking somewhat apprehensively to her lifemate when the gold looks at Persie's shears with an intense silence, then down at her own platinum talons.

Persie lets out a great big sigh, her head falling to the side. "Guys," she says, exasperated, but dramatically so and not so well executed as to hide her smile. "Don't you think there'd be ears on the floor if I was cutting them off? I swear it's just hair." She gives a wad of brown a little kick. "Come on. It'll grow back."

"Viviana," says I'daur, in a warning growl when the weyrling reinterprets his order to her own ends. "Let's consider every minute you delay another inch off where we're already chopping it off to." And the smile he gives Viviana then is not his most pleasant, even if it doesn't last long--he has to turn and watch Rielsath, too, apparently already learning not to trust that gold. But he did suggest the watching, so he settles for saying, "Just don't get under Persie's feet, trip her up or anything."

Fraya strides in from the barracks.
Fraya has arrived.

Viviana doesn't budge. Holding onto the arms of her chair, she plants herself firmly. "A /gentlewoman/ does not cut her hair, it's her crowning glory... I read that somewhere and I know it's true. Beside's Lujayn should be the first -- she's got the bigger dragon. Can't keep her waiting." The warning growl is met with defiance and not an inch does she move at first, that is until a tinkling, worried if still sleep croon from the barracks next door softens the weyrling's stance somewhat. "Oh be that way, Ashmyth. I don't want to be noble... it is disgusting!" With her jaw set and her eyes broadcasting rebellious and murderous thoughts not spoken, Viviana rises from her chair and stiffly makes her way to the chair of doom. Whipping her braid out from under her shirt collar, she drops it down the back of Persie's 'barber' chair.

Rielsath crouches down, tilting her snout questioningly at Lujayn. The Weyrling only clenches her jaw, but those big, curious dragon eyes are staring and those paws are shifting restlessly. Claws against stone; Lujayn takes another step away from her scheming dragon. "You knew you'd have to get it cut off," She reasons with Viviana, "And once you're a rider, you can wear it any way you want." Finding I'daur's desk is a good a barrier as any, Lu tries to get it between her and Rielsath as the Weyrlingmaster had donw with Persie. "I'll make sure she doesn't," Hopefully that's reassuring to him.

"Lujayn, just come on over her and show Viviana how it's done," Persie decides, finally singling one of the weyrlings, the one who isn't actually clinging to her own hair. "You would much rather have -me- cut it than I'daur. He doesn't care how it will look in the end. He'd just shave all your heads. -I- will make you look nice. I promise." She exercises her scissors again, a threatening noise whether she means it or not, and bends to pat the seat in front of her. "Come on. Maybe I'daur will give you a sip to settle yoru nerves."

Fraya wanders into the training room, Rhadruth bumbling behind her. The big brown settles himself down to watch the others, letting out a soft rumble but not extending into a full greeting. Once Rhadruth settles, Fray settles beside him with a hand gently upon her lifemate. She says nothing, smiling brightly at everyone in silence.

"Hate to break it to you," says I'daur in a tone not that upset by it, "but you're not one of those. You're a weyrling." He lifts his shoulders, a half-what-can-you-do gesture that doesn't have much sympathy for her plight. "Anyway, Persie's right about that." And when she finally does head over there to Persie's chair, he nods once, pleased, and leaves that to Persie, while he glances at Lujayn and the arriving Fraya. "See one of 'em beat us to it, anyway," he remarks on the brown weyrling's already short hair.

Vivianabreathes a sigh of relief at the unexpected reprieve and hops out of the chair, grabbing her braid as if snatching a baby out of the jaws of a wild feline. She's swift to make room for Lujayn to sit in the 'seat of doom' from which she leapt. "IfyouwillexcusemesirAshmythtrulydoesneedme" The green's aplogetic broadcast is indeed sincere but insistent. "I'll be right back..." When South Boll freezes over.

Viviana walks into the bowl.
Viviana has left.

Lujayn is quicker to approach Persie this time when Viviana makes her lucky getaway, ready to have it over and done with. Rielsath is also on the move, making to reach her rider before she can surrender to the greenrider's shears. "Let Persie do it," And Lu is stayed again, balked between the dragon and the chair. "Your talons aren't scissors." So saying, she dodges around Rielsath - there's a too-slow flash of well-meaning talons, Rielsath's last ditch attempt to prove Lu wrong - and flops down in the chair, arms crossed over her chest and eyes staring straight ahead. Do your worst, barber lady. The gold lets out a mournful croon when her rider falls prey to the other would-be haircutter, now fixing her innocent eyes upon Persie. Oh please, can't she ..?

"No no. You need to sit and watch. I've done this before," Persie tells the young gold as Lujayn gets settled. But instead of starting right in, Persie comes around in front of the weyrling to stare at her for a moment, lashes narrowing slightly as she considerss. "Maybe just something straight?" Perise asks, drawing a line at about chin length with the sweep of her fingers by her own jaw. "Does it curl much when it dries?" From her back back pocket, she pulls a wood come and starts smoothing out the weyrling's hair.

With a lifted brow when Ashmyth really does call for Viviana, I'daur tells Persie consolingly, "Don't worry, we'll get her soon." Beat. "Her /what/?" He catches Lujayn's latter comment to Rielsath then, and rubs at his face tiredly. "No talons. Don't work on hair; they're made for meat," is the quick explanation he comes up with, for all the good it might do.

Lujayn shifts, trying to keep one eye on Rielsath as Persie studies her. "Um," She twists to face front again, and so Rielsath goes unseen when she moves behind the chair to stare towards Persie, not quite as innocently as before. "Sometimes. It's more straight than wavy." Wait, where'd she go? One paw sneaks up to rest on the chair, thankfully without tipping it, trying to scythe through the hair that falls over its backrest. Lu feels the tickle against her neck and jumps, but Rielsath isn't about to let her get away. A deep score on the wooden chair, a chunk of hair falling to the floor, and Lu isn't leaning back so casually anymore. Her dragon, on the other hand, is looking rather pleased with herself as she sniffs at what she's just hacked away. That looks just perfect.

Persie gets out a gasp and a rather inappropriate curse. "Lujayn, you can't just let her sweep her claws all over. She could have opened your back!" The assistant looks to her boss, her eyes all big and round, and then to the weyrling again. "Are you alright? Did she get you?" And now she's back around behind Lujayn, gaping at the scratches in the chair.

Niena walks in from the barracks.
Niena has arrived.

Masoth tromps in from the barracks.
Masoth has arrived.

It's probably a good thing I'daur isn't watching Lujayn and Rielsath just then; he's instead got his own curse ready when there's a commotion in the barracks, some of the other dragons setting up a squawking that doesn't sound promising. Thus, the best Lujayn gets is a rather distracted, "Don't let her do--whatever that was. You okay, Persie?" But he's already turning away, heading to the barracks in long-suffering fashion to straighten out whatever trouble's been started in there again.

"It was just the chair," Lujayn manages to hiss out in the midst of a mental repartee, Rielsath's pleasure quickly fading at the reactions from onlookers and especially her rider. What's the problem? Caught between confusion and her pride, the dragonet hunkers down and glares daggers, still occupying the space directly behind the chair. "I didn't /let/ her." Lu can't help but be affected by her dragon's newfound sulkiness.

"Did so," Persie returns, ever a grown up. She frowns rather worriedly at the gold, more startled than actually upset. "Don't let her do that again. She could really hurt you. I don't want to see your bones all laid out, we're just trying to cut your hair. And if you're not going to keep her under control, who's gonna do it?" She recollects herself a little more as I'daur leaves the room and thus leaves her in charge. "Please ask her to sit back and watch. Tell her that she can't help, ok?" Ready to forge onward, Persie dips her comb in the nearby bucket of water and starts getting Lujayn's hair ready.

Fraya has disconnected.

Niena notices chaos ensuing and, true to form... retreats. She heads back to the wall with the wing diagram, where Masoth unfurls one wing so Niena can look between it and the chart.

Rielsath slinks aside, something shamed in her posture as she goes aaaall the way across the room to watch. But watch she does, settling down so she's lying atop her paws. Lujayn nods, resettling herself so that Persie can get to work. "I understand," And she does, a bit shaken from the experience, "She knew she could do the same thing as the scissors." As if that defense holds water.

"Well, her talons sure seem sharp enough," Persie will admit. "I know she's just curious, wanting to try things." With a a shake of her comb, she starts smoothing out Lujayn's tawny hair, letting the water control any wisps and neaten the ends. "So maybe sort of uneven along the edges? Piecey? And then it can curl a bit or hang straight at it'll look kind of carefree either way, yeah? Or are you more the.. styled type?" It seems that it's haircut time and Lujayn is the lastest victim, though from the variety of shades of hair at Persie's feet, she isn't the first. The weyrlingmaster's assistant looks up as Niena and Masoth slip in, her smile ready. "Hey guys."

Viviana walks in from the bowl.
Viviana has arrived.

Lujayn is at a total loss, moreso than with Rielsath's own attempt at cutting hair. "I don't know," She admits, brow furrowing. "I've never had anything fancy done with mine. Why don't you have fun with it?" The suggestion is a bit wary, though her hair is probably better off in Persie's hands than if Lujayn called the shots. Rielsath doesn't budge an inch, but her head turns to bring Niena and Masoth into her field of vision. "Hey," Lu offers to Niena as well, but tries not to move.

Niena looks up from her inspection of the blue's wing and says "Hello ma'am, Lujayn. How are Secath and Rielsath?" She then gives Masoth a fond look and lets the dragonet furl his wing back up.

And so the scissors start, one snip at a time as the Lujayn's blonde hair falls down around Persie's feet. "You know, your hair is a lot like mine," the sometimes barber says. "I didn't have much of a cut when I was a weyrling, though. Mostly we just made fun of each others' hair. But this, hopefully, will look good." A bit here, a bit there, the length coming just a breath below Lujayn's jawn. But it's not a straight even line all the way across, instead the ends are a little uneven, giving the whole thing a slightly haphazard look, if certainly an intentional one. "Good," she answers Niena without looking up. "How's the wing? All the parts in the right places?"

Viviana firmly claps a hand over her mouth as she spies just /who/ is in the barber's chair and just who is cutting hair. "Shells.." She mutters. "I thought they'd be done by now.." Skirting past the makeshift salon, Vivy comes alongside Niena. "Got it memorized yet? I tried setting it to music but I can't keep in tune."

Lujayn's eyes move about to follow the snips, though the actual shears are often where she can't see them. "She's how she is," Is the only appropriate answer available, reaching up to feel the ends of her new, shorter hair. "Healthy, to be sure." A pleasantly surprised smile comes across her face, lighter for the loss of hair and excited to have something that could be called 'style.' "Niena, are you getting a cut? I thought you were going to go scissor-mad, Persie," She addresses both women in the same breath, then notices Viviana. "It's not that bad. She can make it look pretty."

Niena nods seriously to the assistant weyrlingmaster. "Yes ma'am, all there. It was hard trying to imagine some of it without seeing his wing, but once they were close together it all works out." She shakes her head at Viviana. "Not yet. I'm trying to figure outa mnemonic of my own for all of the joints -- I imagine I'll need to know to work on becoming a senior dragonhealer." And finally, to Lujayn, she says "It might be nice. Less hair to get covered in oil."

"You guys let I'daur get you all worked up over nothing," Persie says rather proudly, stepping back after the last snip is made. "Give it a good shake. I bet it feels great. All light and wild. And I put a dash of oil in the water so it has a nice shine now, too. It's soft, isn't it?" And with Niena's comment, Persie hastily add, "It's not dragon oil, it's lighter. For hair. Or, well, it's good for hair." She turns over to Viviana, her smile broad and impish. "Still afraid?"

Viviana isn't easily convinced as she peers over at Lujayn from across the room. "It's just not feminine, we'll all look like boys or worse. I'm a girl, girl's are meant to have long hair, that's that." She Looking back to the barracks, she pouts but sighs with resignation. "I'll have to wear a hat for the rest of my life... or turns before it grows out, whichever comes first."

Lujayn does so, a rather feminine movement that has her grinning. "It's great. Thanks, Persie." She hops out of the chair, running one hand through the uneven 'do as she makes her way back to Rielsath and the others for Viviana to have a closer look. "See? At least it's not shaved."

After settling down a squabble in the barracks among Hroxeth and Pirioth, and forcing their E'dro and Cesaira to clean up the mess of meat and oil that results, I'daur finally trudges back to the barracks himself, to return to watching the haircutting in progress. Rubbing his jaw, he just shakes his head at that commotion and returns to leaning up on his desk, fumbling for the liquor bottle again to comfort himself. "That one down?" he asks Persie as Lujayn gets up, and he gives the new haircut a once-over more focused on function than the style Persie's imbued it with. "Tell me we're nearly done," because it's just been that kind of day.

Niena scritches Masoth, who happily lies down and watches everything going on. She approaches Persie and says "I guess it's my turn. And I'm not worried about your oil, honest." She unbraids her runner-tail and pulls out the clasp, then shakes her head so her hair is fairly loose.

"What's wrong?" Persie asks I'daur, her head cocked to the side and her own long blond hair swinging. "You like to watch the magic and you know it." After all, there does seem to have been a number of hair cuts today. And next is Niena. Persie dips her comb to start gathering the weyrling's hair. "So does it curl after you wash it or does it stay straight?" she wonders. "And if you could as Masoth not to help... Rielsath scared the crap out of me."

Lujayn grins when Niena steps up, stifling a laugh as she catches Persie's comment. "I told her to practice on the herdbeasts. They have hair, sort of." A glance down to Rielsath, smiling fondly. "Me too. I think we both need some exercise. See you later, everyone." With her lifemate leading the way, Lujayn heads out of the training room, flipping her short hair again for the fun of it.

Lujayn wanders into the barracks.
Lujayn has left.

"I like there's fewer ones leaving crying when you do it," I'daur answers Persie dryly, with a quirk of his mouth to one side. "Though you sure are slow. Always took just a couple of minutes each to chop it all off when /I/ did it." He shrugs, but doesn't sound really very complaining about that fact. Instead, as Niena moves forward to take the hot seat next, he scissors his first and middle fingers together in a mimicry of Persie's earlier enthusiastic waving them around. "Snip snip," he says.

Niena says "If it curls at all, it isn't much. And Masoth says he'l be happy just to watch, as long as he doesn't need to hold up his wing any longer." To I'daur she says "All of his parts matched, sir, if a little bit out of perspective. I imagine that's because they need to grow some to be in line with themselves -- sort of like his legs."

Persie wears a rather proud and indulgent smile for I'daur's words, the combination of compliment and recount of his own methods. She rakes water and comb and fingers through Niena's hair. "I will give you a straightforward cut, I think. You're a straightforward kind of girl." And her scissors, at last, go to work. Excess hair falls away, leaving Niena's locks at the usual chin-length cut, even ends and a nice shine on it from the hint of oil in the water. And for a flourish, she gives the weyrlings a fresh, neat part. "There. How's that feel? We can go shorter, if you want..." Not that she seems to expect it.

Viviana peeks out from behind the dragon wing diagram, still doubtful about the whole procedure. "It doesn't look horrific Niena. Not really. And it'll grow back .... someday, I'm sure." She takes a deep breath leaning on the mental assurance of her lifemate.

Niena shakes her head experimentally. "It feels sort of... light. I think I'll get used to it soon. I'd rather not go any shorter, though, I think. Thank you." Masoth warbles approvingly from his place under the wing chart, and Niena smiles toward Viviana. "It doesn't feel too bad, either. I bet it'll take no time to comb in the morning, and no more braiding."

"Not bad," I'daur has another compliment for Persie's latest handiwork as he takes a look at Niena's hair. "Looks good on you," he tells the weyrling; belatedly, and with a little amusement again, "Glad Masoth's wing matches up, too. It'll size up better when he's got some more growing down, too--they don't fill out evenly, most of them." And then there was one. With Lujayn, Niena, and a number of other weyrlings gone before her, I'daur looks to Viviana. "Best to get it over with, I figure. Ready?" he asks her.

"If you want to leave it in the braid," Persie tells Viviana, "I can hack it off whole and you can keep it. You know, if you're real attached." Of course, words like 'hack' probably don't do much to soothe the nervous weyrling. "Definitely quicker," Persie agrees with Niena. "A lot of riders don't bother to grow their hair out again after weyrlinghood, cause they like having short hair so much." And just in case Viviana is looking skeptical, she says, "No really!" And to I'daur, "Do you want to get a broom?"

Viviana pales and actually trembles as she walks across the expanse of the training room toward the chair. Unable to speak, she allows her eyes to do the talking and mutely, she nods her thanks at the suggestion. Keeping the hair in a tight braid, she settles down in the chair. With a deep trembling breath, she says. "Cut it, Ashmyth reminds me it's only a small thing, compared to what we have. And I ....want to keep it. I know it's silly but ..." She abruptly stops in mid sentence, not explaining further. "Just cut it?"

I'daur just blinks at Persie's suggestion, and moreso when Viviana takes her up on it. "Saving hair?" he says, just a little befuddled by that desire. But a shrug accepts it as one of those weird girly urges, and he slides onto the desk instead of just leaning on it while he watches.

But Persie is too much of a softie to just hack it off as she's promised with the poor girl looks so pale and scared, so she comes around front to squat besides Viviana's chair, "Hey," she says rather gently. "It's gonna grow back, alright? And there are like a dozen different ways that it can cause you trouble if you don't cut it. You want to be here, right? You want to spend plenty of turns with Ashmyth?" She does glance up at I'daur, giving him a look like he might be insane. "How about just sweeping it up so it's not a mess?"

Vivy's eyes fill with tears, the sarcastic biting remarks and spoiled girl facade drop for a moment, revealing a very vunerable young girl. She mutely nods again, willing herself to gain control. "Ashmyth said she wants to watch from the other room, so I don't worry about her." She looks over where I'daur stands, then leans in closer to Persie, speaking in a half whisper. "It's just -- it't the last bit of my mama, I got. My only memory was her braiding my long hair and if it's gone...." She shrugs. "if it means that I won't be sent away then cut it."

"Practical, if nothing else," I'daur returns to Persie. "But holding on to it..." Obviously, he's not a very sentimental person, or at least in regards to hair. Still, though, he adds to Viviana quickly, "But if that's what you want to do with it." And though he watches the quiet conversation the two greenriders hold, he doesn't interrupt it any.

Niena looks over sympathetically and says softly "I'm sorry."

Persie crams the comb in her pocket to reach instead for Viviana's hand. "Trust me, alright? We're gonna keep your braid so you can hold onto it. I'm gonna try to leave as much on your head as I can. And none of that will change the way you remember your mama, okay?" She gets to her feet again and moves to tie off the top of the braid. "Would she br proud of you? Being a dragonrider?" For the moment, she doesn't pay much attention to Niena or I'daur.

Viviana squeezes Persie's hand but she lets her own hand slip away as she sits still as a mouse. Her shields are back in place, well mostly back in place, as she smiles at Niena. "My mama? She'd be ...horrified that I wasn't married by the age of sixteen turns. Who'd take care of me? And a dragonrider? We didn't see much of them except way up high, on sweeps. It didn't dawn on anyone that it was even a possibility no matter a reality." She keeps her eyes focused firmly on the sketch of dragon anatomy. As the braid is tied off, she doesn't flinch.

I'daur remains quiet, and while he's watching and listening still, to what of that soft conversation he can pick up, he tries very hard not to look like he's eavesdropping. Instead, he focuses on the bottle still on his desk, fiddling with it for something to occupy his hands (and sneaking nips in the process).

Niena is likewise silent, scritching Masoth absently.

Persie ties off the braid and begins to cut through it, though her conversation never falters. "So she might be pretty happy that you'll be all taken care of, huh? I mean, you'll never want for anything as a rider. The Weyr will take care of you, and Ashmyth will take care of you. She'd like that, right?" And finally the braid is through and she hands it around so that Viviana can take it, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. The weyrling might not be able to see if, but Persie chews her lip worriedly and goes about working on the cut, careful with the length, letting nimble fingers control the curl of freshly shorn ends. And she steals a quick, nervous glance at I'daur who is supposedly not paying attention.

Viviana stiffens as the last bit of the heavy braid is snipped away but she barely flinches. Silently she sits, holding the braid in her hands, running her fingers along each twist and turn. "She was a simple woman, barely could read much more than the basic harper tales. But she'd be glad that Ashmyth is taking care of me. She worried .... my father and my brothers weren't exactly nuturing types." She does dare a glance over at the Weyrlingmaster but looks away again, looking at anything but the braid in her hands.

When Persie sneaks a look back at him, I'daur glances up, innocent-expressioned. He does set aside the bottle again, apparently chastised by that one look into watching openly again. Once Persie snips off the last of the braid, he offers, as nicely as he can, "There, not so bad? Think it looks nice, anyway. Where'd you learn to do all this?" An attempt at lighter conversation, aimed at Persie.

Niena echoes the Weyrlingmaster. "You look pretty, Viviana. Its sort of hard to tell the difference since your haor was always pulled back anyway."

"Things are better simple," Persie thinks aloud. "Simple is a good. And I bet that what she'd want more than anything is for you to be happy. You're happy with Ashmyth, right?" The cut is finished in little time, but Persie isn't done yet. With the carefully trimmed length, she begins to braid what's left of Viviana's hair, starting at the crown of her head and weaving in a little here and a little there. The back is left loose, neatly turned under. "There." She steps back with a big hopeful breath, waiting for Viviana's verdict. "Well, I have hair," Persie answers the weyrlingmaster. "And I've cut hair before." She shrugs a narrow shoulder.

Ashmyth tromps in from the barracks.
Ashmyth has arrived.

Ashmyth slips into the room, taking up much less space than her gold clutchsib. She carefully picks her way through so she can get a good look at Viviana, stopping along the way to whuff at the pile of hair that has been discarded. The whuff sends a multi-colored cloud of snipped bit floating. That explored, she now focuses on her lifemate and the tiny green's eyes whirl is genuine approval, an excited croon of thanks headed Persie's way before she nuzzles her lifemate with a gentle touch of her maw. Yes, she approves. As Viviana sees herself through her lifemate's eyes, she takes a deep breath. "Not so bad.... and I still look like a girl with the braids, thank you for understanding ma'am."

Persie's finishing touches on Viviana's hair raise I'daur's brows, but he nods, approving. "Yeah, but you do it good," he amends his earlier words in answer to his assistant. "Think most people got hair and can work scissors, just the results don't turn out so well when they do." Then, watching the cloud of hair that poofs into the hair when Ashmyth gets a hold of it, he makes a face. "Think that's the last one for today--should get that cleaned up. Niena," because she's handy there, "would you go grab the broom, please?" A vague wave toward said item, propped up in one of the other corners.

Niena hops down and not only retrieves the broom, but starts sweeping up the locks into a neat pile. Masoth watches, warbling happily when he senses Ashmyth's rider's approval.

Well now Persie's starting to blush, a touch of pink infused on her pale cheeks. She lifts her scissors againt to faux-snip at I'daur. "Sure you don't want a turn in my chair?" she asks with a forced little laugh. But then, "You've got the clean-up, Niena? Thanks for that. You can dump the water, too," she adds with a tip of her head toward the bucket. Then she's off to take up a seat on I'daur's desk. "I did ok?" she asks him quietly, almost covertly.

E'dre has arrived.

Wroth has arrived.

Ashmyth startles at the warble and whuffles in surprise and the fur flies. Or the hair flies, so much so that Viviana laughs at the cloud, then stands. "It's my lifemate, she made the mess, I should clean it up. It's my duty.." She looks over at I'daur, eying the older man's hair but manages to keep her tongue in check, reaching for another broom instead.

"I told you, Wroth, I'm not in the mood," E'dre's voice proceeds him as he and the brown come striding into the room. Innocently, as innocently as the pair can be. Surprise registers quickly across the man's face as he notes the recently cut hair of those gathered. "Erg, see what I mean? You brought me into a mess." The reply must've been a loud one for E'dre winces as Wroth snorts and glares up at his lifemate.

"You did fine. Great," I'daur tells Persie, with a quick smile for her as she perches on his desk, too. He even reaches to offer her his bottle generously. "They seem, for the most part, pretty happy. Think we can finish 'em up tomorrow, the last... Or are you up to one more?" Because one last weyrling wandering into their clutches is just the sort of gift that's too good to pass up. I'daur watches Wroth and E'dre with a dry smirk before calling out, "Evening," to the pair. "How's... Br--Wroth. Wroth, right?" And he'd been doing so well on the names, but he does catch himself quickly on that one. To Niena and Viviana, as they both volunteer for the cleaning duties, "Might as well wait a few more. Then you can fight it out over the broom."

Persie swings her leg to brush I'daur's. "You do the boys," she reminds him. "Chopping it all off is your thing." But she will take his bottle and tip it to her own lips.

Viviana sweeps busily from the corners outward, making sure to get all the fine hair that flew every which way. She'll be there a while, indeed and she's quiet as she works, even as her lifemate continues to stare at her new do.

Viviana has disconnected.

E'dre salutes I'daur as he acknowledges their entrance. "Wroth, sir. Not Broth, though it does sound fitting enough for him." Another glare from the brown. Pretending not to notice, E'dre looks around and clears his throat. "Hmm. Looks... like people were busy in here!" He brushes his fingers through his hair, eying a particular mess that Viviana's sweeping away.

"Damn it," I'daur tells Persie, with a sigh as she calls him out on that fact. He slides down off his desk stiffly, stretching his legs a moment before he reaches to take the scissors--and the bottle for a quick drink, if Persie'll give it up for that long. At least he gives it right back, though the drinking combined with the scissors is probably enough to make most people nervous (though he at least refrains from waving them about like the greenrider already has). "Was thinking Bremuth, but that's the other one. What's his face." Dismissing L'vae and the other brown, he gestures then to the emptied chair. "Have a seat, son. Won't be long and you two can get back to... whatever it is you're getting into now."

Persie does give up the scissors and the bottle, though she'll take the bottle back when it's offered. Now it's her turn to watch quietly while I'daur takes over the shearing process, her feet swing and her boots bounce lightly on the side of the desk. "Give him the runner hair cut first. Then take the rest off," she urges, a quick of a grin forming.

E'dre watches with lifted brows as I'daur takes a drink from the bottle and then reaches for scissors. Denial is quick to come forward as he starts shaking his head side to side. "Sir, I'm not slotted to get m'haircut...," he looks down at Wroth, nods once, then up at the Weyrlingmaster. "My hair's plenty short." Again he brushes his fingers through his scalp, mussing his hair and sending it standing on ends. "Wroth and I sorta like it how it is. In all due respect." He clears his throat, looking with widened eyes at Persie. "Runner cut?"

Niena is industrious, but not a complete sop. She allows Viviana to take the broom, then sits back and watches as I'daur begins his version of the haircut.

I'daur snorts at Persie, raising a brow. "Maybe I oughta just leave it like that, y'think?" he asks the girl, glancing from E'dre to her and back again. While he advances on the chair, to take up a post behind it, he tells the brownrider, "Everybody's slotted for a haircut, s'only fair. Except the ones can't do any more damage to, like that..." He trails off, snapping his fingers a couple of times as he tries to come up with another name. "The one that came in ear--Fraya," he finds it. "Her. Anyway, if you like it so much, you can grow it back out. When you graduate."

Viviana has connected.

"You know, like a runner's mane," Persie explains for E'dre. "A strip that's long and the rest all short. I told I'daur he should let me cut his hair like that, but he's being a big baby about it." She flashes the weyrlingmaster a cheeky smile.

E'dre looks inclined to argue the point, but Wroth butts his head against E'dre's legs and propels him forward into the chair. He sits down, face a mask of disdain. "Very well. Get it over with." He looks to Persie, "I can't imagine /why/ he wouldn't want his hair to look that way. It's not the least bit fashionable."

"He could be starting a new fashion." Niena volunteers.

And just for that, snip! go the scissors, taking off a haphazard lump on one side of E'dre's head. I'daur is nowhere near the stylist that Persie is, lopping off the shaggy strands quickly and efficiently moreso than fashionably. "My hair's too short already. Wouldn't look good," says I'daur, answering Persie and E'dre both while he cuts away. And just for meanness' sake, he does like the greenrider suggests, taking off pretty much all of the sides without touching the top of the weyrling's hair. "Somthing like this?" he wonders as he pauses to eye the handiwork. "What do you think?"

Viviana comes back into the room, having carried out the last bit of hair to the trash. Just in time, she sees the Weyrlingmaster's handiwork. Patting her own hair, just to reasssure it's not /that/ bad, she can only stare, much like someone who stares at an accident scene, unable to pull away. "Oh my. Oh oh my."

"Oh, what do you know," Persie brushes off with fake disregard, her smile and the laughter in her eyes too good-natured to really level any insult. But watching I'daur work, she soon realizes that he's doing just as she asked and her expression brightens. "Ooh, you should totally leave it like that. -That- is fun."

E'dre looks to Wroth, who seems intent on glaring up at him and the new haircut. He shrugs his shoulders, lifts his hands to 'feel' the handiwork and looks to Viviana. "You don't like it? I'm setting the new trend. Soon all the riders will want something this cool." He grins, relaxing momentarily in the chair. He didn't lose an ear, afterall.

Viviana blinks. "It certainly makes a statement." Returning the broom to the corner, she looks over her shoulder once again, unable to tear her eyes away. "Quite a statement, indeed." Muttering to herself, she giggles. "...... not .... statement ... I'

Niena catches the fit of giggles, and Masoth predictably warbles in amusement. She covers her fit by reaching down to scritch his eyeridge intently.

"The girls'll love it," I'daur agrees with Niena, smirking. "Or at least stare," he amends with a nod to Viviana when she does just that. "And the other guys'll be jealous. Gotta be fair, though--already chopped it all off on some of 'em, so." There goes another snip snip of hair just when E'dre relaxes, as I'daur sets to taking off all the rest of it, too. In the end, he gets it more or less even all over, although that means taking it down to basically the same close-cropped look he himself wears.

Persie sighs, disappointed when the rest of E'dre's hair falls. She'll medicate herself with another swing of the bottle. "You guys are no fun," she decides, setting I'daur's bottle on his desk.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Niena manages to stop laughing. "I should go oil Masoth -- I expect he'll start peeling if I don't get some on him soon."

Niena walks into the barracks.
Niena has left.

Masoth tromps into the barracks.
Masoth has left.

E'dre lifts his hands in supplication towards Persie. "Can't say I didn't try." He reaches up to feel his new do and shakes his head. "How long like this?" he asks, angling a look up at I'daur. He glares after Niena. "It wasn't that funny," he grumbles, nodding at Wroth. "After all, I did look manly in it."

Viviana tsks with disappointment as well. "OH well.." She shrugs as she wanders over to Ashmyth. "There's still plenty you do that I can laugh at, never mind, E'dre. You'll still be a great source of amusement." A nudge in her back makes her roll her eyes but she aquiences to her lifemate's wishes for her to stop teasing.

"Manly," repeats I'daur, with a snort. Fortunately, it's not Niena's wholehearted laughter, but the amusement is still there as he moves to pick up the broom Viviana had earlier and start sweeping up the last dark clumps of hair on the floor, all around Wroth and E'dre's feet. "Maybe I can do yours like that," he suggests to Persie. "Since you were so eager to take a razor to mine."

"My hair is too pretty for that," Persie says quiet certainly, not looking at all frightened by I'daur's threat. In fact, she gives him a smile as if he'd just said something rather complimentary. And the smiles at E'dre as well. "You look good without the hair," she tells him with a sharp nod.

E'dre glances between Persie and I'daur. "Let'er try it out, she might like it." He rolls his eyes at Wroth and waves his hands towards the door. "Fine, let's go. You're the one that was being all nosey about what everyone /else/ was doing." He reaches up to touch his head again and grimaces. "No, I don't. Don't have the eyes nor the nose for such a look." Hmphing, he strolls out proceeded by Wroth.

E'dre has disconnected.

Viviana slips out right behind E'dre, Ashmyth following right behind, blowing on her neck. 'Oooh that tickles, Ashmyth and yes, it feels odd, and no, I do miss my braid." She pulls it out of her pocket, stroking it. "And no, it can't sew it back on.."

Viviana walks into the bowl.
Viviana has left.

Ashmyth waddles into the bowl.
Ashmyth has left.

As the last weyrlings trundle out to adjust to their new haircuts, I'daur gets the last of their hair swept out the doorway in his shuffling way. Tossing the broom back up in the corner, her returns to reclaim his bottle, day's work finished. "Oh, so it's good enough for everybody else, just not you?" he asks Persie as he leans back on the desk. "Maybe I should grow mine out instead, fix it up like his was." And he nods after E'dre's departing back.

Persie slips off the desk to pull the chair out of the way for sweeping, out of the middle of the room and back along the wall. The bucket of water with a pinch of oil gets dumped and then she comes back to the desk with a heavy sigh. Walking right up to I'daur, she drops her head into the crook of his neck. "Can we go to bed yet?"

His brows arching as Persie steps over to him and leans on him, I'daur tilts his chin down enough that he can glance at her without having to shift her around. "Ah," is his very intelligent beginning. But really, when she puts it that way, it's not the sort of question that requires a lot of thought. "S'after dinner by now, suppose so if you want to." Of the weyrlings, "They're probably all too busy admirin' hair to raise more ruckus."

Persie takes another big breath to let out another big sigh, her shoulders lifting and then going limp again. "I hope I did alright with Viviana. The whole thing with her mother and all..." She brings up a hand to scrub it over one side of her mostly-hidden face.

I'daur grimaces when Persie brings up the subject of that particular weyrling, and awkwardly he reaches up to pat her on the back, as comfortingly as he can manage. "You did good. She perks right up at the end, didn't she?" he asks after a moment. "With those, the things you made there for her. She'll be all right. Can't say as I get it myself, but." A shrug.

"You think I'm silly," she decides. "You'd have just told her to suck it up." And with her forehead still resting on I'daur's shoulder, Persie chuckles a little for that. Then, "Are you staying up with them? Is there stuff left to do?"

"Think she's silly," I'daur corrects. "And sure, I would. And she'd of squalled and pitched a fit and probably sulked the next three months. You got her to like it." His shoulders lift again, accepting of those different methods, the results they garner. Then, "Think we cleaned up, they're settling in. 'Ll get Moll to watch 'em tonight."

Persie is showing a bit of bashfulness again in the way she seems to be trying to hide her smile by tucking her lips into her mouth when she finally lifts her head from I'daur's shoulder. "Ok," she answers, quietly, stepping back. "I think they look nice with their short hair cuts. Next time you should put them in uniforms." She might be teasing, but with the little bit of mischief sneaking into her smile, it's hard to tell.

I'daur just shakes his head in answer to that. "Don't think that'd fly so well. Haircuts're a lot easier to do in the long run, unless you're offering to make all the uniforms for 'em, too?" With another lifted eyebrow to query that point, he straightens up, too, sneaks another sip of liquor before tucking the bottle back in its drawer for tomorrow. "You ready?" he asks then.

"No, I'm not much of a sewer," Persie answers with a wrinkle of her nose. "Is that the word? Sewer? Anyway, the Weyr has seamstresses... You could dress them all in pink and green." Because what other colors would Persie choose? But with another smile, she answer his last question by turning to head off toward the bowl.

I'daur groans at that. "Pink and green together?" is all he says, shaking his head before he moves to limp on out after her himself.