[Log] The Trouble with Clay
Who: C'mryn, Eila, I'daur, L'rell, P'ax, Persie
When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 18
Where: Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Clay dragon-sculpting goes unexpectedly awry.
Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.
Contents:
Kelerith
Eila
Obvious exits:
Barracks Office Bowl
In the middle of the second month, lessons continue apace, both dragon-related and non. This afternoon, though, it's time for a break in the steady rote memorization of anatomy and the practical demonstrations of basic care. It's time for something a little bit more fun, and when Zunaeth calls the weyrlings to start filing in, I'daur is propped up against his desk with a big, half-open package of clay at his feet. "C'mon and get some, a good chunk," he says.
Kelerith doesn't file so much as hustle, and he's at the block of clay even before Eila's halfway in the door, nosing and sniffing at it before she catches up and shuffles him out of the way with an apologetic smile up towards I'daur. The girl eyes the clay a bit suspiciously, with a sidelong look towards the Weyrlingmaster, but scoops anyway and finds herself with a handful of it before she's moving out of the way, Kelerith in tow.
C'mryn is watching that clay warily, his hands tucked safely within his pockets. No molding for him, it seems. Or so he hopes. "Clay's too thick," he murmurs under his breath, "And you're too darn big, stay in the bowl... Aw, Tausreth!" And here slinks the bronze of the same name, inching into the weyrling area and dragging snow behind him.
P'ax glances at I'daur suspiciously as he comes forward. The clay is eyed with misgiving before he reaches down to take his share. "Ugh, it's cold," he comments in disgust. Yyth looks down at it when P'ax lowers his chunk so she can investigate it. "I don't know what it's for, no.
There's no mistaken one of these dragons does not belong, and I'daur's gaze is drawn to Tausreth as the much larger bronze slinks in. But while the weyrlingmaster glances at C'mryn briefly, raises a brow, he doesn't say anything and instead waits while all the weyrlings get their handfuls of clay up. "So you been learning about all the parts," says I'daur then, still leaned against his desk. "Now you get to test your artis...m." Not the right word; I'daur frowns but again moves on. "Try making up a model of your own dragon."
Eila can't just stand there with a lump of clay, so she makes her way to a nearby table, plopping that blobby weight in her hands onto the tabletop and tugging a chair near. Kelerith, however, has less interest in settling down anywhere, and instead begins to prowl the room, inspecting this and snuffling that, batting at some dangling thing and all the way eyeing that big - big! - Tausreth. Eila watches Kelerith watching, sure, but she's also listening to I'daur, and she blinks once, twice, at the intructions, and prods a bit half-heartedly at her grey blob.
Persie sits on the desk somewhat behind I'daur, legs crossed and head bent as she fiddles with a number of small somethings that are hardly visible from a distance but make little clickety sounds as she moves them around. "I hope Kelerith doesn't eat himself," she says to no one in particular, chuckling at her own little.. well, sort-of-joke.
Yyth screeches a greeting at Tausreth, tail lashing. P'ax looks dubious but takes his lump of clay to sit with Eila at the table. Uncertainly, he begins patting at the clay until it's almost a blobby round ball.
Tausreth does his best to look innocent. Was here all the time, really! C'mryn just rolls his eyes and gives I'daur an apologetic look. "I can force him out, if you want me to," he offers. Tausreth, though, doesn't budge once he's inside, but remains where he is with his belly on the floor, and naught but his head swinging around to look, watching those weyrlings. Especially the ones with clay. "It's not as hard as it sounds," Cam says encouragingly. "You've all oiled your dragons enough to know what they feel like, so.. make the clay feel like them! Erm. In miniature."
L'rell has been there the whole time, it's true! He takes him lump of clay and looks it over before going to sit with Eila and P'ax, digging the clay into a long round blob. It's a start. Xatolaeth sits next to him, his muzzle pointed in the air almost as though he's disgusted by the process of molding the glay, or perhaps it's just too messy for him.
"Might as well stay," I'daur remarks with a lift of his shoulders as he eyes Tausreth and C'mryn a moment, then glances back at the weyrlings. An aside to Persie, "Don't even joke--" and then he stands up, stepping over to the rows of weyrlings to get a closer look at their... blobs." Eyeing one in particular, he shakes his head and then asks, "P'ax. What's something unique about Yyth?" And he glances at the screechy green and her rider expectantly.
With I'daur gone from in front of her, it's more apparent that what Persie has is four little sacks and a small pile of something greenish in front of her that she now scoops into one of the bags. Then she unfolds her legs and swings them around to the front of the desk so that she may be all sorts of present and attentive. Like she's -in- the class instead of, supposedly, assisting with the teaching of it.
His own name! Kelerith lifts his head and swivels it towards Persie, as though considering this idea, but then he's bounding off again towards something different and Eila's shoulders relax just slightly. "Don't inspire him, Persie," and then the young girl is working at her own clay, massaging her fingers into it and... well... not doing much of anything, really, except separating it into pieces and rolling each one into a ball of its own.
P'ax remarks without looking up and as calmly as possible, "She's an ankle biter. Watch your right foot there." As Yyth stalks C'mryn's right pant leg, Pax tries to pinch out some legs ont he blob... or perhaps those are head, tail, and wings. Quite hard to tell at this point.
L'rell is working his clay into what looks more like a lumpy snake as he glances down at Xatolaeth, gives a shake and start again by rolling the clay into a ball and working again, back into that long almost oval shaped blob. He stops here to think about it, then proceeds to roll out short bit for his tail. It's really not as easy as it looks.
"Physically," corrects I'daur in a drawl, eyeing P'ax. He does not move back, notably, looking unimpressed with the answer he gets. "Try physically, son."
"Is she?" asks C'mryn, watching his leg warily. He just sort of shuffles to the left, putting a bit more distance between himself and the 'ankle-biter'. Tausreth offers a rather reproving sort of huff for the threat to his rider's leg, but doesn't budge. Much more amusing to watch Kelerith, it seems.
Persie frowns a bit at P'ax and slips of the desk to head toward L'rell and Xatolaeth. She stops a little distance from them so that she can tip her head and scrutinize the brown, and then the clay, and then the brown, her expression becoming somewhat more puzzled with every pass. Her mouth hitches to the side, kind of like a smile but... not quite.
Eila's still industriously rolling away, until she's got five - no, six - pieces all laid out in front of her and she begins to methodically attach one to the other until she's got something that resembles, vaguely, a very round dragon. Almost. She wrinkles her nose down at the 'creation', begins pinching and stretching here and there while the real version begins to stalk - well, flounce - towards Tausreth. Rwar!
"That is physical," insists P'ax stubbornly, angrily smashing his blob back together when it starts going the wrong way. "Fine. I fully expect to be castrated the first time I try to ride her as sharp as her neckridges are. Or how about her claws? They're longer than almost anyone else's." He glances up at the weyrling staff defiantly. "Kelerith didn't even hear, love, stop trying to bite him."
"You wanna be smart about it?" Tone over content, I'daur frowns as he regards the green weyrling, but after a moment, apparently lettering the answer slide, he glances around for another weyrling to harp upon. "Xatolaeth," he says, although he's looking at L'rell rather than the brown--at least he gets one of the names. You'd think after a month and a half he'd be better at this.
L'rell doesn't need his own name called, he glances at the brown then back to I'daur. "Sir? Were you asking me the same question about Xatolaeth?" He asks glancing back at his brown friend. "Well, uh, he's long? I mean he has a slender form that makes him look long? And his color is unique. For a brown, I think." He glances back to the weyrlingmaster almost nervously.
P'ax mutters under his breath, "I always try to be smart about things." But none the less, he goes back to punishing his clay into various deformed renditions of the same bad blob.
While L'rell is busy answering the question, Persie steps up to dump a handful of what appears to be brown rye meal beside him on the table. "I know it's not quite the right color for him but... it's brown!" Not that clay isn't sort of brown already but... nevermind that. "You can squish it all over the outside when you're done." Her eyes are all bright and eager, she's quite proudly excited about this idea. And then she's moving on to dole out more handfuls, but not before murmurring something to I'daur as she passes him. Then it's on to P'ax, if somewhat reluctantly. And before him she sets... split peas.
Those split peas scatter near Eila, and she pulls a face at them, sparing a moment from that clayworking to prod at them. "That's - green." Squish, squish, Eila's 'dragon' now has a tail poking out of the back of it, and a sort-of neck, and stumpy little legs... But doesn't doesn't quite resemble anything like the small blue capering across the floor, except for a certain squatness to the shape.
"Yes. Of course," I'daur tells L'rell, just a hint of impatience in his voice when the brownrider questions him. "Not bad," though, he does tell the boy; he's distracted by Persie as she passes. And those handfuls of stuff she's passing around, which earn a long look from him. "What /are/ you doing now."
P'ax stares at Persie, almost horrified and definitely disgusted. "/Paint/ would have sufficed," he drawls, pushing at one of the small, shrivelled up beans with one stubby finger.
L'rell looks rather pleased with himself, at least he wasn't scolded, and thats always a good thing. With a renewed energy he attacks his blob and shape it this way, shape it that way, and it just might be starting to look like a dragon. It of course looks nothing like Xatolaeth, but it's just starting to take shape at this point.
"I'm passing out stuff for them to make the dragons dragon-colored," Persie chirps her answer to I'daur, flashing him a particularly wide smile that's marred by the way the corner catches in her teeth. "But... well... There wasn't anything in the stores that was blue. And I didn't have time to dye it blue so all I have is..." She moves to put a handful of rice next to Eila. "We'll pretend." Which makes the whole thing kind of pointless, but she's pretty happy with it anyway. At least until she hears P'ax's comment. Then she deflates rather pitifully.
With a pointed look towards P'ax for his unappreciation, Eila gathers the rice closer to the lumpy shape that was Kelerith, pulling in a few errant grains with one fingertip, and grins towards Persie. "That's okay! Pretending works. Or I can add it on," the rice, that is, "and then paint it blue later!" See? That works too. "When I'm done." Which, unfortunately, she seems far from.
"Dragon-colored." I'daur's not touching that. Instead, he just shakes his head, and eyes the rice. "We'll see about getting you some paint," he tells Eila. And of her figure, "Looks kinda like 'im. Short 'n' squatty." High compliments indeed. To the class at large, he adds, "Can set them aside in my office when you're done--let them dry out and you can keep them."
Uncharactaristically frustrated, P'ax brings his hand down flat on his blob, creating a pancake. "There! It's just as skinny as her." He jams a handful of peas into the clay and looks defiantly at the older riders.
Persie's eyes get wide and she slinks over toward Eila. Nice, safe, sweet Eila and her crazy little blue. Away from P'ax. Nervously she flicks a look toward I'daur.
Eila lifts her brows just slightly and shuffles her chair a little bit closer to Persie, too. Her dragon-figurine comes with her, too, and the girl applies herself again to molding the clay. I'daur's approval earns a grin from the once-nanny, and a short little nod even as she works at those prominant eyeridges of Kelerith's. "See?" And she turns it towards the greenrider.
While Persie creeps away from P'ax, I'daur is turning that way, to give the irascible greenrider another look. Leaving Eila to Persie with a brief nod at both, I'daur returns toward his desk, leans over it to pull out his flask and take a drink. Then, to P'ax, I'daur says mildly, "Now start over."
P'ax narrows a glance at I'daur. "This is the most stupid thing you've ever asked us to do, and you ask us to do a lot of stupid things," he retorts, quite petulant. "If I say that's Yyth, who are you to question my interpretation?" Stubborn to the last.
"I think it looks just like him," Persie says, warm and confident whether or not the eyeridges are really taking on Kelerith's particular expression. The greenrider flicks a look back over at P'ax and I'daur, draws in a deep tense breath and frowns. "Why is he so angry all the time, do you know?" she whispers to Eila.
Eila beams her pleasure at Persie's words, and she tweaks here and there - even though, no, those protruding eyeridges don't look entirely like the little blue - and smoothes down the clay. P'ax's petulance brings a frown to the girl's lips, and at Persie's questions, she shrugs slightly. "I don't know," replied with an equally low voice, "But if I had a scary scary green like him I'd be on edge a bit, too."
I'daur shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You really want to show your ass over something this stupid, son?" he asks.
P'ax is completely unimpressed and so he just lifts his chin defiantly, "I'm not even sure what you just said, /sir/, but this isn't a fardling art class. I don't want to twiddle away with some river slop, I'd go back to the SmithCraft and play in the ceramics hall if I wanted to make pretty pottery dragons all day. With /split peas/ for Faranth's sake. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. This isn't fun, it's stupid. I tried, I didn't just refuse straight off. I'm not going to try again to appease your sensibilities."
"What do you think that means, really? 'Show your ass'." But Persie's not really questioning the weyrlingmaster. Not at all! Particularly not when P'ax questions him immediately after. Then she just looks guilty and tries to hide around the far side of the Eila's table, squatting down and letting her idle fingers neaten Eila's little pile of rice instead. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything blue. I should have just got paint. It was a dumb idea to use peas and stuff," she all but whispers to her mentee.
"I don't know," Eila's low titter is hidden behind her hand as she turns intent interest on the growing scene between the two, "Unless I'daur plans on turning him over and spanking him like a child." But then wide, slate-blue eyes move towards Persie, instead, and the girl reassures quietly, "Oh, no, no, I think it was a great idea, don't feel badly, it gives them texture, and personality. P'ax is just being a jerk about it."
"You didn't?" I'daur furrows his brows at P'ax's first admission. "I'll sign you up for some extra harper classes in the morning, that case. Ask Gisele to give you a dictionary, maybe." The last is more musing, accompanied by another shrug and a pull from his flask again. "We can stay here, long as you please."
Spanking. That has Persie trying not to giggle, hidden behind the table. She covers her mouth with her hand, flicking a look over at P'ax. "That would be -so- funny," she laughs in secret to Eila. It encourages her just enough that she actually sits in the seat beside the bluerider instead of crouching on the floor. The smile disappears, however, when she looks to I'daur again.
P'ax snorts, "Maybe it's you who needs the harper lessons. It's not my fault in the least that your euphemisms and dialect are indistinguishable to those of us who've received education beyond the breadth and width of a simple weyrbrat lump." He spreads his hands, "Sit as long as you like, Weyrlingmaster, but don't hold your breath. I'm not going to bother." His head turns sharply to snap at both girls, "I can /hear/ you."
Eila scuffs her chair just that much nearer to Persie as she takes her seat, and though she peeks alongside at the two men with a faint chuckling in the back of her throat. "Yeah, I'd like to see that." And she doesn't seem terribly perturbed when P'ax growls at them, instead replying, rather blandly, "Yeah, and you're being a jerk about it. So."
"Watch your mouth with them," says I'daur, stern in regards to Eila and Persie where he's not with himself. "And I don't really give a damn if you bother or don't, but we'll sit here anyway. That clear enough for you?"
Without even thinking about it, Persie starts helping Eila with the sculpture; not that she's a professional or anything, but she pokes a little here and there to help the clay take dragon form. "You know what else would be funny," she says even more quietly to the girl so close beside her. "If everyone gets to move out of the barracks and he does because he refuses to do as he's told. Or if everyone starts flying and he's still sitting here with his clay." But no, she's not laughing. "Actually... I think that just makes me sad." She looks it too, frowning mournfully as she forms one of mini-Kelerith's feet.
"He's the one being a jerk!" P'ax fairly hollers, his voice raising to a ridiculous pitch. Yyth, clearly delighted, lifts her head and adds her own shreiking joyfully to his cracking voice. "I tried! Who's the jerk? If you try something, and you can't do it, there's no shame in saying 'well I gave it a go but I wasn't any good' and move onto something else. If you suck at something in the Hall, you try something else until you've found something you are good at and that you like. I didn't like ceramics at the Hall and I don't like it here so you can sit there until your sharding arse goes numb, falls off, and dies for all I care, I am /not/ touching that clay!" Breathless and red, he throws himself back in his chair so hard it skids an inch. "I came here to /stop/ being a SmithCrafter."
"I don't know," Eila says, wrinkling her nose a bit even as Persie sobers, "he might deserve it a bit. If he can't do what he's told," and here her voice lifts, no reason to keep these words low as they're fair directed right as P'ax and his little tantrum, "he'll make a pretty poor dragonrider." But she pokes at her clay, too, ducking her head, mushing a shoulder into a wing spar and dragging her nail against it to give it some form. "You didn't try very well," the blueriding weyrling points out with one clay-specked finger.
"You don't get an option." I'daur remains nothing but calm, even as P'ax starts the yelling. As easy as if this were some common conversation, he takes another drink and slides up on his desk's surface. "Don't get to say you quit around here. Get to do things until you don't suck. Now calm yourself down and stop working up your dragon."
Persie just looks somewhere between horrified and astonished. Her eyes go huge and her jaw drops when P'ax starts getting all hysterical. "P'ax," she breathes out as if she simply cannot believe what she's seeing. And then the sad expression starts to come back. Her hands withdraw from Eila's model and she draws her knees up to her chin, wraps her arms around them and settles her chin on top with her eyes watching the weyrlingmaster. "I feel bad," she murmurs to Eila.
P'ax stops yelling, if only to glare at I'daur. Yyth huffs and also glares at I'daur, probably for ruining all of her fun and turns to pad off in search of something better to do. "Well then stop trying to force me to do something I'm not going to do. I don't ask you to do whatever it is you did before you were a rider that you hated the most. Give me a piece of paper, I'll draw her. I'm not messing with your sodding clay." This, at least, is said much more reasonably. His arms remain fixed, folded over his chest. Eila eventually gets the flat unfriendly stare, "Oh, I'm sorry, Lady Holder, that my efforts don't rival your own spectacular attempts. Not that it's hard to sculp Kelerith. He practically looks like a blob already." He seems to regret the words as soon as they're out though because he grimaces. "No, Yyth thinks that..I don't think that." A hand rubs over his mouth. "I'm sorry."
"Awh, Persie, it's okay," Eila's attempt at comfort comes in a tentative movement of her hand, a hesitant motion towards patting Persie's shoulder, and then her hands fall into her lap and fold together, Kelerith-model forgotten for the moment. "No one's mad at you, at least, and P'ax - I don't know, he has to learn to do as he's told eventually. It's just bad timing it happened when we're her-" and then P'ax is still talking and insulting Kelerith and Eila's eyes go quite rounded and offended and her jaw simply falls open. "You won't speak about him again, P'ax, not ever."
"Was a handyman," I'daur supplies almost helpfully to P'ax. But neither the latter slightly-more-reasonableness nor the apology at the end of his snipes make I'daur soften; in fact, his jaw tenses slightly and he glances to the two girls, still watching. "'Scuse us," he tells them, with a meaningful look for Persie. "Eila, why don't you ask C'mryn about some of that paint" And while the barracks clears--those who didn't hurriedly finish their work and flee at the first sign of trouble--I'daur turns back to P'ax. "Consider yourself restricted to the barracks this week," he says.
"Oh Eila," Persie says once it's the bluerider's turn to do the round-eyed, open-mouthed routine. She reaches to take her hand. "He didn't mean it. He really didn't," she insists for Eila's sake, not for P'ax's. "Don't listen to him." She catches I'daur's look but doesn't seem entirely sure what to make of it, even if she does give him an obedient nod. "Come on," she tells Eila. Clearing out seems to be the message she's gotten. "How's Kelerith? Does he need anything?"
P'ax glances sidelong at I'daur for long moments, tracing his fingertips along his lower lip thoughtfully. "I suspect I'm going to stink a fair bit after a week without bathing, but if that's how you'd like it." His head jerks just a little in Persie's direction. "I didn't mean it. Yyth thought it... it came out. I don't think..." he trails off and folds his hands together, resting elbows on the table and resting his chin on his curled knuckles. "Shards."
Eila clutches at Persie's offered hand, and she finally closes her mouth, setting her lips quite firmly together and pointedly turning away from P'ax through his apologies. The girl slips down off her stool, collecting the half-hardened figurine in her free hand and clutching it tight to her chest, casting about for Kelerith. The blue slinks nearer to the girl, head low, wings drooping, and Eila swallows and shakes her head down at him. "No, no, it's not you. It's okay." Then she's willing to follow anywhere her mentor might lead her.
While the girls clear out, I'daur waits in silence, leaves P'ax to his fumbling, inadequate apologies that Eila ignores. The weyrlingmaster takes himself another drink instead, and once the pair are on their way out the door, he repeats dryly, "No? You don't think?"
Persie pulls Eila's hand close and tugs her along toward the barracks. "You're a little wonder, Kelerith," she tosses in her own encouragement for the blue, giving him a smile and sharing it with Eila as well. "Are you hungry?" she asks the girl. "Thirsty? Is he? You were telling me earlier about red thread? Is it hard to make red?" Anything she can think of to take Eila's mind of the situation they're leaving. Not that Persie doesn't look back at I'daur and P'ax and then I'daur again.
"You're antagonizing me on purpose," P'ax points out. "I don't lose my temper. It's very hard to anger me. Perhaps this should tell you something about the way you're handling this situation. I do not enjoy artwork. I appologize that this foils your plans for tonight's lesson, but you can't make me. I don't care what you do to me."
Kelerith's quick to forget the words; his low-to-the-ground creep, at Persie's words, turns into a rolling caper for the door, head held high again as he glances over his shoulder. C'mon! Eila, not so much, and she mutely shakes her head at the questions, though slowly, after a long moment, she says, "Yeah. Red thread. It's - uh - sort of. You've got to - there's..." And then she falls silent again, with another look over her shoulder, too.
"I'm sorry. Did you want a hug instead? Some warm milk before I tuck you into bed." And now I'daur is definitely antagonizing, though his tone remains even throughout. "I ain't your mama, and can't say as I really care if you're mad or not. But if you want to be a little bitch about it, well." He lifts his shoulders.
Persie quicky ushers Eila's attention forward again. "Kelerith is waiting for you," she nudges. Well, he looked back. That's like waiting. "Did you guys make other colors of thread too or just the red?" It's a stupid question but that's not the point. She pats at Eila's hand while she holds it.
P'ax's lips tighten until little edges of white form around his mouth. "It's a good thing you're not my mother. Though I'm beginning to see some similarities." He pushes to his feet. "Good night, Weyrlingmaster."
Obediantly, Eila redirects her attention to the blue, who prances in place and tosses his head, chirping, waiting indeed! The girl carries on, but with a slow step that's perhaps just as much loathe to miss what's going on as her shock. "No, we had - other colours, too. Lots. I've got them all in my basket - I could show you..." Here she trails off. Later, maybe.
"I didn't excuse you," says I'daur. "Sit."
Persie is also too distracted to really pursue this thread of discussion. Har. She comes to a stop outside of the training cavern, definitely in the barracks, where she and Eila can pretend to be ignoing the weyrlingmaster and his troubled charge. "I like pink," she tosses out dumbly. "And green." Well covered.
P'ax doesn't sit, or even turn to look at I'daur, "Yyth is hungry. Or is rendering her in clay more important now than her needs?" He heaves a sigh. "I think, sir, that we should both calm down and talk about this later, when we can do it without grappling for control over the situation and infuriating each other further."
"I like... blue." Eila manages, softly, coming to a stop right next to Persie while Kelerith presses himself tight against his lifemate's legs, purring reassuringly. The once-nanny even leans, slightly, towards the door, half-closing her eyes as she strains to catch I'daur's and P'ax's words. "Oh, make him pay for the things he said," the girl wishes, fervently, under her breath. "Don't let him off so easy."
"Doing what you're told is more important," is I'daur's mild-voiced counter. "So be quick about it and you can go. Don't got to grapple with you over it--I am the weyrlingmaster here. And if I don't ask for a lot out of you--" he eyes the scattering of left-behind figures, none of them good by almost any stretch of imagination (the effort put into them plainly trumps actual artistic skill) "--then that's all the more reason for me to expect you to do it."
"Eila!" Persie hisses quietly, jerking at her mentee's hand. "You don't mean that. We just want P'ax to understand and care. And... and... we're -not listening-." She makes a show of turning away, but her glance slips right back to the training cavern a beat later. So much for the obedient clearing out. But oh! It seems like the discussion they're eavesdropping on is coming to a close. "We shouldn't be listening," she says, shaking her head like sense has just come back to her, like she means to be an upstanding assistant now that I'daur might be coming out. Maybe.
"No," refuses P'ax simply. "Perhaps you do not consider it too much, but that is too much and I won't do it. Yyth is hungry if I don't feed her, she's going to start eating bugs, and that's disgusting."
"I do, too," Eila starts a bit at that pull at her hand, and though she says the words the guilty frown to her mouth belies them, so she turns, too, when her mentor does. "I just - what he - Kelerith." The shorter girl sighs, plaintively, sadly. "I can't talk to him ever, now, not without thinking of that horrible thing he said."
"If she doesn't mind them--" A shrug. I'daur is not fussed at the idea of bug-eating, at least. He is flat in his regard of P'ax, though, still. "At this point, ain't nothing keeping her hungry but your pride."
"No, Eila. He doesn't mean the things he says. He's all..." But Persie catches enough of I'daur's comments to have bigger concerns than her mentees moral health. She looks around. "Where... where -is- Yyth?"
The girl falls silent, nodding once and pressing her lips together. And at Persie's concern, Eila at least has the decency to turn about (casually, of course) and peer into the cavern (a bit less casually). "I - I don't know."
Persie takes a great deep breath. "No, we really shouldn't be listening," she decides again, this time tugging Eila away from the entrace, away from the peeking in and the eavesdropping. "I'll get you some paint huh? For the rice?"
Eila, with a glance down to Kelerith, inclines her head and holds up her half-finished - and now mostly-dried - figurine, and peers closely at it. "Paint," she repeats, and follows in Persie's wake as she's drawn away.
When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 18
Where: Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Clay dragon-sculpting goes unexpectedly awry.
Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.
Contents:
Kelerith
Eila
Obvious exits:
Barracks Office Bowl
In the middle of the second month, lessons continue apace, both dragon-related and non. This afternoon, though, it's time for a break in the steady rote memorization of anatomy and the practical demonstrations of basic care. It's time for something a little bit more fun, and when Zunaeth calls the weyrlings to start filing in, I'daur is propped up against his desk with a big, half-open package of clay at his feet. "C'mon and get some, a good chunk," he says.
Kelerith doesn't file so much as hustle, and he's at the block of clay even before Eila's halfway in the door, nosing and sniffing at it before she catches up and shuffles him out of the way with an apologetic smile up towards I'daur. The girl eyes the clay a bit suspiciously, with a sidelong look towards the Weyrlingmaster, but scoops anyway and finds herself with a handful of it before she's moving out of the way, Kelerith in tow.
C'mryn is watching that clay warily, his hands tucked safely within his pockets. No molding for him, it seems. Or so he hopes. "Clay's too thick," he murmurs under his breath, "And you're too darn big, stay in the bowl... Aw, Tausreth!" And here slinks the bronze of the same name, inching into the weyrling area and dragging snow behind him.
P'ax glances at I'daur suspiciously as he comes forward. The clay is eyed with misgiving before he reaches down to take his share. "Ugh, it's cold," he comments in disgust. Yyth looks down at it when P'ax lowers his chunk so she can investigate it. "I don't know what it's for, no.
There's no mistaken one of these dragons does not belong, and I'daur's gaze is drawn to Tausreth as the much larger bronze slinks in. But while the weyrlingmaster glances at C'mryn briefly, raises a brow, he doesn't say anything and instead waits while all the weyrlings get their handfuls of clay up. "So you been learning about all the parts," says I'daur then, still leaned against his desk. "Now you get to test your artis...m." Not the right word; I'daur frowns but again moves on. "Try making up a model of your own dragon."
Eila can't just stand there with a lump of clay, so she makes her way to a nearby table, plopping that blobby weight in her hands onto the tabletop and tugging a chair near. Kelerith, however, has less interest in settling down anywhere, and instead begins to prowl the room, inspecting this and snuffling that, batting at some dangling thing and all the way eyeing that big - big! - Tausreth. Eila watches Kelerith watching, sure, but she's also listening to I'daur, and she blinks once, twice, at the intructions, and prods a bit half-heartedly at her grey blob.
Persie sits on the desk somewhat behind I'daur, legs crossed and head bent as she fiddles with a number of small somethings that are hardly visible from a distance but make little clickety sounds as she moves them around. "I hope Kelerith doesn't eat himself," she says to no one in particular, chuckling at her own little.. well, sort-of-joke.
Yyth screeches a greeting at Tausreth, tail lashing. P'ax looks dubious but takes his lump of clay to sit with Eila at the table. Uncertainly, he begins patting at the clay until it's almost a blobby round ball.
Tausreth does his best to look innocent. Was here all the time, really! C'mryn just rolls his eyes and gives I'daur an apologetic look. "I can force him out, if you want me to," he offers. Tausreth, though, doesn't budge once he's inside, but remains where he is with his belly on the floor, and naught but his head swinging around to look, watching those weyrlings. Especially the ones with clay. "It's not as hard as it sounds," Cam says encouragingly. "You've all oiled your dragons enough to know what they feel like, so.. make the clay feel like them! Erm. In miniature."
L'rell has been there the whole time, it's true! He takes him lump of clay and looks it over before going to sit with Eila and P'ax, digging the clay into a long round blob. It's a start. Xatolaeth sits next to him, his muzzle pointed in the air almost as though he's disgusted by the process of molding the glay, or perhaps it's just too messy for him.
"Might as well stay," I'daur remarks with a lift of his shoulders as he eyes Tausreth and C'mryn a moment, then glances back at the weyrlings. An aside to Persie, "Don't even joke--" and then he stands up, stepping over to the rows of weyrlings to get a closer look at their... blobs." Eyeing one in particular, he shakes his head and then asks, "P'ax. What's something unique about Yyth?" And he glances at the screechy green and her rider expectantly.
With I'daur gone from in front of her, it's more apparent that what Persie has is four little sacks and a small pile of something greenish in front of her that she now scoops into one of the bags. Then she unfolds her legs and swings them around to the front of the desk so that she may be all sorts of present and attentive. Like she's -in- the class instead of, supposedly, assisting with the teaching of it.
His own name! Kelerith lifts his head and swivels it towards Persie, as though considering this idea, but then he's bounding off again towards something different and Eila's shoulders relax just slightly. "Don't inspire him, Persie," and then the young girl is working at her own clay, massaging her fingers into it and... well... not doing much of anything, really, except separating it into pieces and rolling each one into a ball of its own.
P'ax remarks without looking up and as calmly as possible, "She's an ankle biter. Watch your right foot there." As Yyth stalks C'mryn's right pant leg, Pax tries to pinch out some legs ont he blob... or perhaps those are head, tail, and wings. Quite hard to tell at this point.
L'rell is working his clay into what looks more like a lumpy snake as he glances down at Xatolaeth, gives a shake and start again by rolling the clay into a ball and working again, back into that long almost oval shaped blob. He stops here to think about it, then proceeds to roll out short bit for his tail. It's really not as easy as it looks.
"Physically," corrects I'daur in a drawl, eyeing P'ax. He does not move back, notably, looking unimpressed with the answer he gets. "Try physically, son."
"Is she?" asks C'mryn, watching his leg warily. He just sort of shuffles to the left, putting a bit more distance between himself and the 'ankle-biter'. Tausreth offers a rather reproving sort of huff for the threat to his rider's leg, but doesn't budge. Much more amusing to watch Kelerith, it seems.
Persie frowns a bit at P'ax and slips of the desk to head toward L'rell and Xatolaeth. She stops a little distance from them so that she can tip her head and scrutinize the brown, and then the clay, and then the brown, her expression becoming somewhat more puzzled with every pass. Her mouth hitches to the side, kind of like a smile but... not quite.
Eila's still industriously rolling away, until she's got five - no, six - pieces all laid out in front of her and she begins to methodically attach one to the other until she's got something that resembles, vaguely, a very round dragon. Almost. She wrinkles her nose down at the 'creation', begins pinching and stretching here and there while the real version begins to stalk - well, flounce - towards Tausreth. Rwar!
"That is physical," insists P'ax stubbornly, angrily smashing his blob back together when it starts going the wrong way. "Fine. I fully expect to be castrated the first time I try to ride her as sharp as her neckridges are. Or how about her claws? They're longer than almost anyone else's." He glances up at the weyrling staff defiantly. "Kelerith didn't even hear, love, stop trying to bite him."
"You wanna be smart about it?" Tone over content, I'daur frowns as he regards the green weyrling, but after a moment, apparently lettering the answer slide, he glances around for another weyrling to harp upon. "Xatolaeth," he says, although he's looking at L'rell rather than the brown--at least he gets one of the names. You'd think after a month and a half he'd be better at this.
L'rell doesn't need his own name called, he glances at the brown then back to I'daur. "Sir? Were you asking me the same question about Xatolaeth?" He asks glancing back at his brown friend. "Well, uh, he's long? I mean he has a slender form that makes him look long? And his color is unique. For a brown, I think." He glances back to the weyrlingmaster almost nervously.
P'ax mutters under his breath, "I always try to be smart about things." But none the less, he goes back to punishing his clay into various deformed renditions of the same bad blob.
While L'rell is busy answering the question, Persie steps up to dump a handful of what appears to be brown rye meal beside him on the table. "I know it's not quite the right color for him but... it's brown!" Not that clay isn't sort of brown already but... nevermind that. "You can squish it all over the outside when you're done." Her eyes are all bright and eager, she's quite proudly excited about this idea. And then she's moving on to dole out more handfuls, but not before murmurring something to I'daur as she passes him. Then it's on to P'ax, if somewhat reluctantly. And before him she sets... split peas.
Those split peas scatter near Eila, and she pulls a face at them, sparing a moment from that clayworking to prod at them. "That's - green." Squish, squish, Eila's 'dragon' now has a tail poking out of the back of it, and a sort-of neck, and stumpy little legs... But doesn't doesn't quite resemble anything like the small blue capering across the floor, except for a certain squatness to the shape.
"Yes. Of course," I'daur tells L'rell, just a hint of impatience in his voice when the brownrider questions him. "Not bad," though, he does tell the boy; he's distracted by Persie as she passes. And those handfuls of stuff she's passing around, which earn a long look from him. "What /are/ you doing now."
P'ax stares at Persie, almost horrified and definitely disgusted. "/Paint/ would have sufficed," he drawls, pushing at one of the small, shrivelled up beans with one stubby finger.
L'rell looks rather pleased with himself, at least he wasn't scolded, and thats always a good thing. With a renewed energy he attacks his blob and shape it this way, shape it that way, and it just might be starting to look like a dragon. It of course looks nothing like Xatolaeth, but it's just starting to take shape at this point.
"I'm passing out stuff for them to make the dragons dragon-colored," Persie chirps her answer to I'daur, flashing him a particularly wide smile that's marred by the way the corner catches in her teeth. "But... well... There wasn't anything in the stores that was blue. And I didn't have time to dye it blue so all I have is..." She moves to put a handful of rice next to Eila. "We'll pretend." Which makes the whole thing kind of pointless, but she's pretty happy with it anyway. At least until she hears P'ax's comment. Then she deflates rather pitifully.
With a pointed look towards P'ax for his unappreciation, Eila gathers the rice closer to the lumpy shape that was Kelerith, pulling in a few errant grains with one fingertip, and grins towards Persie. "That's okay! Pretending works. Or I can add it on," the rice, that is, "and then paint it blue later!" See? That works too. "When I'm done." Which, unfortunately, she seems far from.
"Dragon-colored." I'daur's not touching that. Instead, he just shakes his head, and eyes the rice. "We'll see about getting you some paint," he tells Eila. And of her figure, "Looks kinda like 'im. Short 'n' squatty." High compliments indeed. To the class at large, he adds, "Can set them aside in my office when you're done--let them dry out and you can keep them."
Uncharactaristically frustrated, P'ax brings his hand down flat on his blob, creating a pancake. "There! It's just as skinny as her." He jams a handful of peas into the clay and looks defiantly at the older riders.
Persie's eyes get wide and she slinks over toward Eila. Nice, safe, sweet Eila and her crazy little blue. Away from P'ax. Nervously she flicks a look toward I'daur.
Eila lifts her brows just slightly and shuffles her chair a little bit closer to Persie, too. Her dragon-figurine comes with her, too, and the girl applies herself again to molding the clay. I'daur's approval earns a grin from the once-nanny, and a short little nod even as she works at those prominant eyeridges of Kelerith's. "See?" And she turns it towards the greenrider.
While Persie creeps away from P'ax, I'daur is turning that way, to give the irascible greenrider another look. Leaving Eila to Persie with a brief nod at both, I'daur returns toward his desk, leans over it to pull out his flask and take a drink. Then, to P'ax, I'daur says mildly, "Now start over."
P'ax narrows a glance at I'daur. "This is the most stupid thing you've ever asked us to do, and you ask us to do a lot of stupid things," he retorts, quite petulant. "If I say that's Yyth, who are you to question my interpretation?" Stubborn to the last.
"I think it looks just like him," Persie says, warm and confident whether or not the eyeridges are really taking on Kelerith's particular expression. The greenrider flicks a look back over at P'ax and I'daur, draws in a deep tense breath and frowns. "Why is he so angry all the time, do you know?" she whispers to Eila.
Eila beams her pleasure at Persie's words, and she tweaks here and there - even though, no, those protruding eyeridges don't look entirely like the little blue - and smoothes down the clay. P'ax's petulance brings a frown to the girl's lips, and at Persie's questions, she shrugs slightly. "I don't know," replied with an equally low voice, "But if I had a scary scary green like him I'd be on edge a bit, too."
I'daur shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You really want to show your ass over something this stupid, son?" he asks.
P'ax is completely unimpressed and so he just lifts his chin defiantly, "I'm not even sure what you just said, /sir/, but this isn't a fardling art class. I don't want to twiddle away with some river slop, I'd go back to the SmithCraft and play in the ceramics hall if I wanted to make pretty pottery dragons all day. With /split peas/ for Faranth's sake. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. This isn't fun, it's stupid. I tried, I didn't just refuse straight off. I'm not going to try again to appease your sensibilities."
"What do you think that means, really? 'Show your ass'." But Persie's not really questioning the weyrlingmaster. Not at all! Particularly not when P'ax questions him immediately after. Then she just looks guilty and tries to hide around the far side of the Eila's table, squatting down and letting her idle fingers neaten Eila's little pile of rice instead. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything blue. I should have just got paint. It was a dumb idea to use peas and stuff," she all but whispers to her mentee.
"I don't know," Eila's low titter is hidden behind her hand as she turns intent interest on the growing scene between the two, "Unless I'daur plans on turning him over and spanking him like a child." But then wide, slate-blue eyes move towards Persie, instead, and the girl reassures quietly, "Oh, no, no, I think it was a great idea, don't feel badly, it gives them texture, and personality. P'ax is just being a jerk about it."
"You didn't?" I'daur furrows his brows at P'ax's first admission. "I'll sign you up for some extra harper classes in the morning, that case. Ask Gisele to give you a dictionary, maybe." The last is more musing, accompanied by another shrug and a pull from his flask again. "We can stay here, long as you please."
Spanking. That has Persie trying not to giggle, hidden behind the table. She covers her mouth with her hand, flicking a look over at P'ax. "That would be -so- funny," she laughs in secret to Eila. It encourages her just enough that she actually sits in the seat beside the bluerider instead of crouching on the floor. The smile disappears, however, when she looks to I'daur again.
P'ax snorts, "Maybe it's you who needs the harper lessons. It's not my fault in the least that your euphemisms and dialect are indistinguishable to those of us who've received education beyond the breadth and width of a simple weyrbrat lump." He spreads his hands, "Sit as long as you like, Weyrlingmaster, but don't hold your breath. I'm not going to bother." His head turns sharply to snap at both girls, "I can /hear/ you."
Eila scuffs her chair just that much nearer to Persie as she takes her seat, and though she peeks alongside at the two men with a faint chuckling in the back of her throat. "Yeah, I'd like to see that." And she doesn't seem terribly perturbed when P'ax growls at them, instead replying, rather blandly, "Yeah, and you're being a jerk about it. So."
"Watch your mouth with them," says I'daur, stern in regards to Eila and Persie where he's not with himself. "And I don't really give a damn if you bother or don't, but we'll sit here anyway. That clear enough for you?"
Without even thinking about it, Persie starts helping Eila with the sculpture; not that she's a professional or anything, but she pokes a little here and there to help the clay take dragon form. "You know what else would be funny," she says even more quietly to the girl so close beside her. "If everyone gets to move out of the barracks and he does because he refuses to do as he's told. Or if everyone starts flying and he's still sitting here with his clay." But no, she's not laughing. "Actually... I think that just makes me sad." She looks it too, frowning mournfully as she forms one of mini-Kelerith's feet.
"He's the one being a jerk!" P'ax fairly hollers, his voice raising to a ridiculous pitch. Yyth, clearly delighted, lifts her head and adds her own shreiking joyfully to his cracking voice. "I tried! Who's the jerk? If you try something, and you can't do it, there's no shame in saying 'well I gave it a go but I wasn't any good' and move onto something else. If you suck at something in the Hall, you try something else until you've found something you are good at and that you like. I didn't like ceramics at the Hall and I don't like it here so you can sit there until your sharding arse goes numb, falls off, and dies for all I care, I am /not/ touching that clay!" Breathless and red, he throws himself back in his chair so hard it skids an inch. "I came here to /stop/ being a SmithCrafter."
"I don't know," Eila says, wrinkling her nose a bit even as Persie sobers, "he might deserve it a bit. If he can't do what he's told," and here her voice lifts, no reason to keep these words low as they're fair directed right as P'ax and his little tantrum, "he'll make a pretty poor dragonrider." But she pokes at her clay, too, ducking her head, mushing a shoulder into a wing spar and dragging her nail against it to give it some form. "You didn't try very well," the blueriding weyrling points out with one clay-specked finger.
"You don't get an option." I'daur remains nothing but calm, even as P'ax starts the yelling. As easy as if this were some common conversation, he takes another drink and slides up on his desk's surface. "Don't get to say you quit around here. Get to do things until you don't suck. Now calm yourself down and stop working up your dragon."
Persie just looks somewhere between horrified and astonished. Her eyes go huge and her jaw drops when P'ax starts getting all hysterical. "P'ax," she breathes out as if she simply cannot believe what she's seeing. And then the sad expression starts to come back. Her hands withdraw from Eila's model and she draws her knees up to her chin, wraps her arms around them and settles her chin on top with her eyes watching the weyrlingmaster. "I feel bad," she murmurs to Eila.
P'ax stops yelling, if only to glare at I'daur. Yyth huffs and also glares at I'daur, probably for ruining all of her fun and turns to pad off in search of something better to do. "Well then stop trying to force me to do something I'm not going to do. I don't ask you to do whatever it is you did before you were a rider that you hated the most. Give me a piece of paper, I'll draw her. I'm not messing with your sodding clay." This, at least, is said much more reasonably. His arms remain fixed, folded over his chest. Eila eventually gets the flat unfriendly stare, "Oh, I'm sorry, Lady Holder, that my efforts don't rival your own spectacular attempts. Not that it's hard to sculp Kelerith. He practically looks like a blob already." He seems to regret the words as soon as they're out though because he grimaces. "No, Yyth thinks that..I don't think that." A hand rubs over his mouth. "I'm sorry."
"Awh, Persie, it's okay," Eila's attempt at comfort comes in a tentative movement of her hand, a hesitant motion towards patting Persie's shoulder, and then her hands fall into her lap and fold together, Kelerith-model forgotten for the moment. "No one's mad at you, at least, and P'ax - I don't know, he has to learn to do as he's told eventually. It's just bad timing it happened when we're her-" and then P'ax is still talking and insulting Kelerith and Eila's eyes go quite rounded and offended and her jaw simply falls open. "You won't speak about him again, P'ax, not ever."
"Was a handyman," I'daur supplies almost helpfully to P'ax. But neither the latter slightly-more-reasonableness nor the apology at the end of his snipes make I'daur soften; in fact, his jaw tenses slightly and he glances to the two girls, still watching. "'Scuse us," he tells them, with a meaningful look for Persie. "Eila, why don't you ask C'mryn about some of that paint" And while the barracks clears--those who didn't hurriedly finish their work and flee at the first sign of trouble--I'daur turns back to P'ax. "Consider yourself restricted to the barracks this week," he says.
"Oh Eila," Persie says once it's the bluerider's turn to do the round-eyed, open-mouthed routine. She reaches to take her hand. "He didn't mean it. He really didn't," she insists for Eila's sake, not for P'ax's. "Don't listen to him." She catches I'daur's look but doesn't seem entirely sure what to make of it, even if she does give him an obedient nod. "Come on," she tells Eila. Clearing out seems to be the message she's gotten. "How's Kelerith? Does he need anything?"
P'ax glances sidelong at I'daur for long moments, tracing his fingertips along his lower lip thoughtfully. "I suspect I'm going to stink a fair bit after a week without bathing, but if that's how you'd like it." His head jerks just a little in Persie's direction. "I didn't mean it. Yyth thought it... it came out. I don't think..." he trails off and folds his hands together, resting elbows on the table and resting his chin on his curled knuckles. "Shards."
Eila clutches at Persie's offered hand, and she finally closes her mouth, setting her lips quite firmly together and pointedly turning away from P'ax through his apologies. The girl slips down off her stool, collecting the half-hardened figurine in her free hand and clutching it tight to her chest, casting about for Kelerith. The blue slinks nearer to the girl, head low, wings drooping, and Eila swallows and shakes her head down at him. "No, no, it's not you. It's okay." Then she's willing to follow anywhere her mentor might lead her.
While the girls clear out, I'daur waits in silence, leaves P'ax to his fumbling, inadequate apologies that Eila ignores. The weyrlingmaster takes himself another drink instead, and once the pair are on their way out the door, he repeats dryly, "No? You don't think?"
Persie pulls Eila's hand close and tugs her along toward the barracks. "You're a little wonder, Kelerith," she tosses in her own encouragement for the blue, giving him a smile and sharing it with Eila as well. "Are you hungry?" she asks the girl. "Thirsty? Is he? You were telling me earlier about red thread? Is it hard to make red?" Anything she can think of to take Eila's mind of the situation they're leaving. Not that Persie doesn't look back at I'daur and P'ax and then I'daur again.
"You're antagonizing me on purpose," P'ax points out. "I don't lose my temper. It's very hard to anger me. Perhaps this should tell you something about the way you're handling this situation. I do not enjoy artwork. I appologize that this foils your plans for tonight's lesson, but you can't make me. I don't care what you do to me."
Kelerith's quick to forget the words; his low-to-the-ground creep, at Persie's words, turns into a rolling caper for the door, head held high again as he glances over his shoulder. C'mon! Eila, not so much, and she mutely shakes her head at the questions, though slowly, after a long moment, she says, "Yeah. Red thread. It's - uh - sort of. You've got to - there's..." And then she falls silent again, with another look over her shoulder, too.
"I'm sorry. Did you want a hug instead? Some warm milk before I tuck you into bed." And now I'daur is definitely antagonizing, though his tone remains even throughout. "I ain't your mama, and can't say as I really care if you're mad or not. But if you want to be a little bitch about it, well." He lifts his shoulders.
Persie quicky ushers Eila's attention forward again. "Kelerith is waiting for you," she nudges. Well, he looked back. That's like waiting. "Did you guys make other colors of thread too or just the red?" It's a stupid question but that's not the point. She pats at Eila's hand while she holds it.
P'ax's lips tighten until little edges of white form around his mouth. "It's a good thing you're not my mother. Though I'm beginning to see some similarities." He pushes to his feet. "Good night, Weyrlingmaster."
Obediantly, Eila redirects her attention to the blue, who prances in place and tosses his head, chirping, waiting indeed! The girl carries on, but with a slow step that's perhaps just as much loathe to miss what's going on as her shock. "No, we had - other colours, too. Lots. I've got them all in my basket - I could show you..." Here she trails off. Later, maybe.
"I didn't excuse you," says I'daur. "Sit."
Persie is also too distracted to really pursue this thread of discussion. Har. She comes to a stop outside of the training cavern, definitely in the barracks, where she and Eila can pretend to be ignoing the weyrlingmaster and his troubled charge. "I like pink," she tosses out dumbly. "And green." Well covered.
P'ax doesn't sit, or even turn to look at I'daur, "Yyth is hungry. Or is rendering her in clay more important now than her needs?" He heaves a sigh. "I think, sir, that we should both calm down and talk about this later, when we can do it without grappling for control over the situation and infuriating each other further."
"I like... blue." Eila manages, softly, coming to a stop right next to Persie while Kelerith presses himself tight against his lifemate's legs, purring reassuringly. The once-nanny even leans, slightly, towards the door, half-closing her eyes as she strains to catch I'daur's and P'ax's words. "Oh, make him pay for the things he said," the girl wishes, fervently, under her breath. "Don't let him off so easy."
"Doing what you're told is more important," is I'daur's mild-voiced counter. "So be quick about it and you can go. Don't got to grapple with you over it--I am the weyrlingmaster here. And if I don't ask for a lot out of you--" he eyes the scattering of left-behind figures, none of them good by almost any stretch of imagination (the effort put into them plainly trumps actual artistic skill) "--then that's all the more reason for me to expect you to do it."
"Eila!" Persie hisses quietly, jerking at her mentee's hand. "You don't mean that. We just want P'ax to understand and care. And... and... we're -not listening-." She makes a show of turning away, but her glance slips right back to the training cavern a beat later. So much for the obedient clearing out. But oh! It seems like the discussion they're eavesdropping on is coming to a close. "We shouldn't be listening," she says, shaking her head like sense has just come back to her, like she means to be an upstanding assistant now that I'daur might be coming out. Maybe.
"No," refuses P'ax simply. "Perhaps you do not consider it too much, but that is too much and I won't do it. Yyth is hungry if I don't feed her, she's going to start eating bugs, and that's disgusting."
"I do, too," Eila starts a bit at that pull at her hand, and though she says the words the guilty frown to her mouth belies them, so she turns, too, when her mentor does. "I just - what he - Kelerith." The shorter girl sighs, plaintively, sadly. "I can't talk to him ever, now, not without thinking of that horrible thing he said."
"If she doesn't mind them--" A shrug. I'daur is not fussed at the idea of bug-eating, at least. He is flat in his regard of P'ax, though, still. "At this point, ain't nothing keeping her hungry but your pride."
"No, Eila. He doesn't mean the things he says. He's all..." But Persie catches enough of I'daur's comments to have bigger concerns than her mentees moral health. She looks around. "Where... where -is- Yyth?"
The girl falls silent, nodding once and pressing her lips together. And at Persie's concern, Eila at least has the decency to turn about (casually, of course) and peer into the cavern (a bit less casually). "I - I don't know."
Persie takes a great deep breath. "No, we really shouldn't be listening," she decides again, this time tugging Eila away from the entrace, away from the peeking in and the eavesdropping. "I'll get you some paint huh? For the rice?"
Eila, with a glance down to Kelerith, inclines her head and holds up her half-finished - and now mostly-dried - figurine, and peers closely at it. "Paint," she repeats, and follows in Persie's wake as she's drawn away.