[Log] Liiiiick!
Who: Ajatha, A'son, B'tal, C'sel, K'ndro, Leova, Meara, Persie, W'chek, Z'yi, and baby dragons
When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 19
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
What: Isforaith wreaks mayhem.
"It's Meara," says the weyrlingmaster, drawing up together her own lanky limbs and taking that first step towards the dark, glowlit tunnel. They could just stand there at the tunnel's edge and peer waaaaaaaaaay in. Maybe yell a few times to see if it'll echo, but with an easy hand that reaches to place congenially on Z'yi's shoulder, should he not dodge, move, or twitch, the greenrider takes in a deep breath and mutters under her breath, "Well, here we go." Maybe she's just as nervous, and then they emerge on the other side and she's breathing once more.
K'ndro settles into a kneel, fond and amused even as Xadovith is sliming Leova. "Here now," he rumbles quietly as he reaches towards that muzzle, fingers gently curving beneath jaw as his other hand does exactly what Leova suggested. Which is, reaching into the bucket and grabbing a handful. "Patience," which might not be necessary, lost within the darkness and the light, as that first bite of much-needed meat is offered, with more to follow at a steady, if hands-shaking-still, pace.
Rasiyoth begins to headbutt Ajatha, rubbing his eyeridges on the pants of her leg. Itchy. Itchy. Itchy now that the dampness from his egg has subsided.
Jeibeth delicately takes the offered piece of meat from B'tal and closes her mouth, tasting it fully first before that first movement of jaws. He needed worry apparently about her chewing because she does so slowly and carefully, eyes half-lidding as she considers this new sensation. Eventually, that first piece is all chewed up and swallowed and Jeibeth inclines her head for the next bit if B'tal is ready.
Z'yi doesn't mind the touchy-feely weyrlingmaster, instead offering her something of a slightly grateful smile at the contact. It reminds him that he is here on Pern and this isn't some just technicolor dream. He keeps a hand on Isforaith, however, as if to /really/ reassure him of such. "No, I know, I know. Food." The word is stated with a certain underlying urgency, but Z'yi still looks like he's in a daze as he enters the barracks.
Zhikath would /never/ bite his W'chek. No matter how hungry. He extends his mouth with the same kind of measured care as he moved his limbs, taking the meat into his mouth with a whuff of warm breath, his tongue reaching out to lick up the blood. Then, his head lifts: More? Eyes meet eyes once more, content and adoring.
Ajatha strolls in after C'sel with her head nodding in agreement of what's being said. Oh, she so seems to have heard this before, but instead of making it too obvious, she laughs softly and nods. "Okay, okay. Itches first. Yes, oiling comes first. Come, love." Instantly with the love stuff, she's moving.. that way to grab something to oil the brown with. Whee!
Once there, Meara releases Z'yi's shoulder - or perhaps it got released somewhere down the line. Does it even matter at this point? Everything being the dreamy haze it is. On the heels of her very audible, unnerved breath, the greenrider looks across the expanse of weyrlings in the barracks, all sixteen of them, that are in various states of eating, biting, sliming, oiling. "Oh boy. Oh boy." She totally wishes she were I'daur at this moment and while instinct and those raised hands to maybe come together in a clap that never happens, everyone seems just so cute and too adorable to interrupt, so instead the warm-voiced alto says aloud to Z'yi, "One second and I'll be back with a bucket, paddle, and some lovely assortments of intestines or whatever we have here. Be right back! Sit, make yourself all comfy, your feet must be on fire." Chirping brightly, the spry woman waves her way through the crowds.
Xadovith lets K'ndro turn his head, for now, though there's strength in his still-narrow neck that means even K'ndro can't turn it any old which way. For a purpose? Yes, and then instinct gets him actually eating, his eyes turning a still-muted blue. << Patience, >> he repeats, and what is that, anyway? At one point, between bites, he licks at K'ndro's bloodied hands as though he really must get them clean.
When he has the next ready for her, B'tal just watches her chew with something like wonderment. He offers it to her when the first is swallowed, then repeats the process. So much to say and he can't decide what he actually wants to come out of his mouth!
Oh, love! Yes, yes. Rasiyoth keeps in near contact with Ajatha this entire time. His eyes are attentive on her, even as he continues to try and rub his 'ridges on her still. Then that oil comes in view. Oooh, oil.
The withered paw of Isforaith doesn't seem to slow him down; his other long legs keep up just fine with Z'yi as they stalk into the barracks. And it doesn't stop him, either, from impatiently pulling ahead of his newfound rider, either. Z'yi's in a daze so he'll just handle himself, barging right up to waiting buckets of food without waiting on Meara to fetch, either. She's an old woman, no need for her to wait on him. Now if only he could have stopped before he ran into them and started everything to spilling and clanging on the stone...
Following after Ajatha as she heads over to fetch oil for Rasiyoth, C'sel waits a moment, observing in silence. "You have done this before?" He asks after a moment, a quirk of his brows, slight as continues to watch the pair together.
W'chek follows with more, sure enough. Another piece of meat offered, much more sure this time. "Make sure to... chew it?" He's not a great advice giver, here. All that not-paying-attention business. But watching others, he does the best he can. "I think," he offers in the general direction of K'ndro, "I need that pinching now."
Jeibeth takes the next offered piece of meat just as delicately as the first, her jaws moving carefully. Once she has swallowed her head tips to bump gently against B'tal's shoulder, eyes lifted to his face with clear adoration. He's taking such good care of her!
Persie looks from B'tal and Jeibeth to W'chek and Zhikath and back again. There is chewing. "Good chewing!" It's lame, but she's excited and frazzled and so it's probably the best she can do. "Just keep going until they're done and full and they start to itch. That's what the oil bucket is for." Then with a blink, she looks from side to side again. "You impressed!" Like she's just realize this just now, or more likely as though it's only now just properly sunk in.
Zhikath inhales that piece of meat with the same kind of precision as the first, but there's definite chewing, which is, at least, /something/. His tail snakes around, seeking out any part of W'chek that it can reach, though the bronze seems otherwise content to rest himself comfortably, wings drawn back, head seeking again for more meat.
Meara is on her merry way back to Z'yi, whose well into making a racket and a possible mess (?), when she passes by W'chek and stretches forth a slighty bloody set of fingers to tweak his shoulder. "Awake yet? No? I'll be back then." But it's to Z'yi her focus remains -- a Z'yi and Isforaith who are now... the aging woman pauses and just stares. "Oh boy. Oh boy. I think you might have left your brain, or possibly your legs back out in the heat, kid."
Z'yi stares after Isforaith. A sudden insight strikes Z'yi, and a look of total, /utter/ mortification and horror crosses his typically quiet-faced countenance. "Oh, /crap/," he states, loud enough for any around to hear. Unstated is the rest of the statement: This is the rest of my life. And it could really, really suck. ... Well, not the lifemate and never being alone part. But the cleaning up part. Way belatedly, he strides forwards. "Raith. Raith. /Raith/, slow /down/," hopping to right buckets and thrust a piece of food at the blue. He looks up at Meara, a helpless 'why me' look, as he tries to attempt to have forty hands. All at once.
Ajatha gets that whole oil kit thingy going and reaches over to slather the oil over Rasiyoth's hide, especially on where he's itching on her at. "Oh, you like my beads? Thank you, dearest." Ignore her wriggling. The look on her face - she's a woman in love. Uhoh. She shakes her head absently with a little laugh to C'sel. "No. But Mother's a weyrlingmaster. I've heard a little bit about what happens." A little bit.
That clanging, it startles Leova up from her intent watch of Xadovith, of Laurienth who managed to get a lump of meat stuck between her teeth. Starting to rise, rising enough to see Meara pausing by him, she sinks back down in a particularly unglamorous bobbing motion, and just finds herself laughing in a low, muttery, muffled-in-her-elbow sort of way. "Better?" As much for K'ndro as Ebeny.
K'ndro, for all he's a chatty sort normally, has moments when even for him silence is just the best course of action. Silence allows him to think, or try to. Patience? Patience is... the steady measure of meat bites, carefully chewed and properly swallowed before another one is given. Calm acceptance of this as being necessary, despite the demands of the body. Of course it's more complicated than that, too. "Easy, Xadovith," he rumbles, promptly getting more blood on his hands as he dips into the bucket again. Though that 'easy' is probably more for himself than his new lifemate, actually.
The little bucket in her hands literally look like they're about to droop as far down as her shoulders are sagging. While Z'yi looks helpless with his 'why me' look, Meara might give that same expression to the heavens, or the ceiling at least. "Well," she begins, her alto filling with slow humor, "I don't think this'll be much help but here." Shove of oil bucket and paddle to the bluerider. "I will be back with a mop, /unless they start munching off the floor first./" She says it just loud enough to possibly be heard over all the racket and din of baby dragons eating. What better way than to clean up a floor than to promote hygienic /eating off the floor by baby dragons/! Go get 'em, kids.
If a dragon could sigh with relief, Rasiyoth would do it right now. He does breath out a nice little huff, relaxing and settling as that oil is slathered on his eye. He stares up at Ajatha's face with eyes so full of love, they're practically brimming.
B'tal laughs like he might cry when Jeibeth bumps his shoulder. Except that he's already shed a few tears since their first encounter. He offers another piece and his wide blue gaze turns to take in the rest of the barracks. "I think everyone's enjoying their meals just fine," he assures her. "Are you full?" he asks.
"Ow!" Followed by a scowl after the Weyrlingmaster--but yes, W'chek is awake. He rubs at his shoulder, at the smear of blood left on the white robe. Picks out another piece of meat for Zhikath, nods down to the dragonet. "Not chewing would be bad," he agrees. "I don't--this just seems a little unreal. Like I could be asleep, and dreaming. But... I'm not. I know."
Comprehension dawns on C'sel's face and he inclines his head slightly. "Of course, then you will have heard stories from your mother," the brownrider's gaze roams over Rasiyoth though, as he seems to enjoy the oiling. "Be sure to give him a good even coating. When he no longer itches, be prepared to feed him. I will get a bucket for you while you're busy," the assistant informs and steps aside to do so. He pauses on the way to remind another pair to chew, voice as quiet as ever and waits to see that it is done, before securing a bucket and returning to Ajatha and Rasiyoth.
<< I can fix it! >> Isforaith says quickly, a booming voice aimed at the whole barracks. And look, he can, because after a moment of staring blankly at the mess, and trying to nudge a couple of pieces of meet back into a bucket with one paw, he discovers: hey, food! And a couple of quick gulps have him swallowing it down, before he looks at Z'yi again and lets the caution sink in. At least he doesn't choke. Or lick the now-bloody floor, though he looks like he's giving that some serious thought.
Careful, K'ndro: from here on, Xadovith might associate patience with he's-going-to-get-fed. For now, though, Xadovith pokes his muzzle, his /sharp/ muzzle, towards his rider's belly: he's going to have some too, yes? Yes. << /Yes/. >> With conviction.
Zhikath lifts his head in surprise and alarm at Meara's pinch of his rider: hey! Can't do that! It's not /right/. His rumble is warning, never mind his extreme youth, not to mention his extreme hunger. Which, at least, the meat in W'chek's hand can do something about.
Jeibeth accepts that next piece of meat from B'tal and once it's consumed, bends her head to daintily begin to take morsels for herself. In between bites, she looks around the barracks some more, taking in the others, now that her own immediate hunger is somewhat sated. << Fix? What requires fixing? >> Jeibeth inquires though her tone is curious, she also adds a gentling touch. << Though perhaps a little less ... volume, please? >> There's a tinkle of chimes to her sending, something soothing within it.
Z'yi is gonna be the life of the party from here on out. "Isforaith," he pronounces the whole name with a dangerous edge that threatens absolute doom if ignored, "I---" And here is Isziyo--er-- Z'yi, looking... completely at a loss. He could cry. He really could. Instead of Being Like Bet, however, he heedlessly snatches one of the one-too-many chunks of meat out of his lifemate's maw, and plops down right on his ass in the middle of a puddle of blood, and laughs so hard he /may/ cry tears of laughter. Hey. It feels good. You know. To laugh. In between laughing, he's trying to regulate Isforaith's eating. Really, he is.
Meara, swift old lady that she is, returns momentarily with a mop. Only to find one of her charges hysterical on the floor. So she stands there, leaned against the mop and eyes Isziyo. What part of the owner's manual referenced: Hysterical Weyrlings? Oh crap, what part was it?! So, ditching mop, it falls to the ground in a clunk for someone else to trip over, the greenrider takes up shop next to Isziyo and just puts a hand on one of his knees - maybe the fact that there's someone nearby might help! Touching him? In not so awkward places? And for Isforaith, she just gives this stern little look: "Son, if you don't lick all that up, tomorrow will be awkward for you. This is your bed I think."
A deep breath, another piece of meat offered whenever Zhikath finishes. "You're very real," W'chek says, laying his hand along the sleek bronze neck. "Don't mean to doubt. It's not that I didn't think you would find me, it's that--" Pause. "I didn't know there was a me to find." Or something. There's still bafflement there on his face along with the smile.
Isforaith Okay, Meara is a /scary/ old woman. Isforaith has collapsed in a pile of limbs himself next to his rider, his eyes alit with amusement while he snaps up every bit of food that's offered him. But when the weyrlingmaster comes over, his long muzzle swings up to look at her, eyes whirling faster. He scrambles to his feet, appropriately cowed. And so he sets about cleaning up the floor, all by his lonesome. Liiiick. Must be Cadejoth's son after all.
Ajatha pulls back just a fraction in surprise at Rasiyoth and narrows her eyes on him with laughter lighting her eyes to a silvery gray. "Hey! What're you doing going through my thoughts, you silly thing. Yes, that is my mother, Rajazad. She gave me these. And these," She stops to touch the smaller ones in her braids that are obviously harder to work with. "Are from Daddy." Babbling absently, it seems she's only got eyes for Rasiyoth, though she shoots a thankful smile at C'sel and moves on to keep that coat of slimy oil even and whatnot. "Are you hungry, yet?" See.
K'ndro is doing a good job at being oblivious, though at clatters and bangs and a bit of hysteria his head has come up to see what the commotion is. "-Isz.-" Pleased, though his voice remains quiet. And back to Xadovith almost immediately, as he's still trying to work out how to enlighten the sharp-nosed bronze as to all the subtleties 'patience' includes. Which is more-than-food, alot more. Maybe they'll just have to explore it as they go. "Better. Yes, I thi- ow!" A stern eye, an equally stern, "No, this is for -you- not me. I'll eat later. How do you feel?" Er, dumb? Maybe.
Zhikath is ready for that next piece of meat, oh yes, though his eyes are close upon W'chek while he eats, considering his rider with interest. He leans in, pressing his head towards W'chek's shoulder, then draw it back again, because, really, that position is /not/ good for the eating.
Z'yi straightens, swipes the laughter-tears from his eyes, and grins, with irrepressible amusement, up at Meara. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll help." He shambles up to his feet like an overlarge dog detatching himself from the carpet, and goes to help clean up after Isforaith, snabbing the mop and hipchecking the blue aside to get the tricky parts. "Eat slowly, or I will kill you." Brown gaze rises, to rather amusedly catch K'ndro's across the way, as improbable as it may seem. He points, like a dork, down to his lifemate. Hey dude, look what I got for Christmas!
C'sel sets the bucket down near Ajatha, within easy reach, a small smile on his face as he catches her recital about where the beads came from. He steps back a half pace though, again observing as the oil is applied. "Make sure to get into all of the folds of his limbs," the brownrider instructs quietly, with a gesture to the crook of a forelimb, or the crease of haunch. "When he eats, do not forget to remind him to chew."
B'tal lets Jeibeth starting taking her own meat and he wipes his hands on his robes, following her gaze and looking at Isziyo. He watches him for a handful of moments, then his attention is entirely on Jeibeth again. After he finds the other stuff provided for them like oil. A perfect excuse to continue touching the dragon while she eats her fill. He doesn't bother with a paddle as he begins smoothing some over her hide, rubbing away bits of stuff that shouldn't be there with great care. It's hard enough to process just the two of them let alone everyone else. "I don't know," he murmurs to her.
Rasiyoth hams all of this up. He's obviously enjoying all of the attention that he's getting from her. He even goes so far as to turn this way and that to allow her to oil him better. Chin lift, wing lift. Tail movement. When the question of food comes up, he begins to croon. His eyes taking on hints of red to underline his hunger.
That the dragon would actually /listen/ to her boggles Meara and it's visible for all of five seconds as she stares at how Isforaith has decided to lick the floors clean. Three blinks in succession and then she's bursting into unchecked, hearty laughter that threaten to pull tears from her eyes. "Oh, kid. Oh, what's your name again?" Does it matter? "Oh, kid. Good luck. Seriously. To you and me both."
Isforaith all but falls over when Z'yi nudges him, and he gives the weyrling a Look. Not yet good at moderating his fire-and-ale voice, he declares, << Hey, watch it! I'm crippled here. >> And he holds that one paw up in proof. Except, that is definitely meat scraps caught on his claws, so, with little heed for manners, he starts cleaning it off. << Do I get to eat that when you're done? >> And the image of the now bloody mop pops into his head.
"Perfect," says W'chek. He's obviously turning into some kind of an echo here. But whatever it's in response to, his smile broadens, and for a moment, he believes. "Just--perfect. Yes." There's not even the slightest bit attention paid to mess and trouble, because mess and trouble cannot possibly invade this little bubble right now. W'chek is happy. Nobody gets to screw that up.
Jeibeth pauses mid-bite as B'tal smooths oil onto her hide and she blinks a few times, then looks over her shoulder, looking at the stuff as it spreads along her side. She tips a look at the weyrling's face for a moment then outward into the barracks once more. << That really is /quite/ the mess, Isforaith. But why would you want to eat the cleaning tool? It's so ... stringy. >>
Zhikath would probably beam, if he could. If his mouth worked like that. But it's all in the eyes, though, between those straight-lined, dark brow-ridges, whirling so fast they might as well be spinning out of control. Then, another nudge: So... meat?
Less hungry, if the gnawing sensation Xadovith's likely been relaying to K'ndro is any indication: it's let up some, anyway. Which means that he pokes at K'ndro again: << Eat it. >> Obviously, if it's good for him, it's good for /him/. Only then it's followed by another look at his new-made rider, a /very/ close look at K'ndro that becomes: << Open your... >> a pause for the right word, plucked out of the tall weyrling's head, << Mouth. >>
There is a bloody-butt weyrling near by. There is a weyrlingmaster in fits and giggles on the floor and a dragon that's intent on cleaning the floor and lifting his bloody-meat-bedecked crippled paw in the air. And the laughter keeps on rolling. Poor Meara. Those squinty brown eyes look this way and that and finally she just gives into her loss of dignity. "Don't miss that spot." She'll be helpful and point out some blood smears but can't quite work herself to standing again. Likely, her clothes'll have to be tossed out.
"Oh," B'tal says, blinking back at Jeibeth and wiping his hands on his robes again. "Sorry," he says and his eyes dart for something to wipe it away with before he just uses the bottom of his robe to get the most of it off. He gives her a nervous laugh and lets her finish, glancing out over the rest of the barracks again.
Z'yi's lips twitch. "Isziy-- uh, Z'yi, ma'am," he states to the weyrlingmaster. "I'm sorry. I think... I think I'm gonna know you pretty well," he states, after a moment or two. And after the bloody-mop projection. "Can I say 'I'm sorry' in advance, one mor-- THAT'S THE OIL, Raith!" He doesn't care if the blue's crippled. "Tiriana's dragon gave me a crippled baby for a lifemate." Is that a taunt? From quiet, unassuming Isziyo? Oh crap. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gents; this is going to be one helluva wild ride. The affect of Z'yi's bold statement is somewhat toned down, however, as he hits his knees and beams like an idiot at his lifemate, as it hits him again. And then, a bare second later, "No, you /still/ can't eat the mop. Because I said so. Don't argue with me."
"No, never," Ajatha quickly reassures the unheard voice and beams at Rasiyoth, shaking her head. "You can go through my thoughts any time, love. I just - wasn't used to it." Food, right. Applying the oil all liberally to the wriggling brown, she retracts her greasy hand and wipes them off on.. something. Really, it wasn't someone else's robe. Moving off to go to the .. food, she grins. "Yes, we will see Kaelyth. He will bring her up here sometime to see you. He might even be here already. I didn't get a chance to look up at the gallaries." She chatters away happily, finally glancing up at the chaos that is the rest of the barracks and practically has to lean against the wall to cackle.
W'chek plucks out another piece of meat, offers it while looking around--"There was oil someplace?" called out to whoever might be listening. Somebody's job has to be to listen, right? "That's itching," he explains to his dragon. "They said there'd be that, too. Don't worry, we can do something about it."
Oh, they're going to butt heads already? "-No.-" K'ndro repeats, too preoccupied to return even a grin for Z'yi. Firm refusal, head shaking from side to side. "This," and he waggles the slimy hunk of meat held in his fist, "is your food. Not mine. -Stop- that." For the insistent poke, hand dipping and his own strength being used to steer that muzzle to one side and probably rick getting bit in the process. Pleadingly, he looks over towards Leova, "How do I make him understand?"
Jeibeth returns to her meal, eats a few more nuggets and lifts a paw, turning it over, to look at the bottom of it. Gently she drapes it across B'tal's thigh now, looking at her weyrling with what is clearly some kind of puzzlement.
Zhikath will, in the meantime, be more than happy with the meat. Though he wiggles. Just once. Then again. Then he stills, probably requiring great concentration to do so, which does slow down further his consumption of that meat. Twitch. Just for a moment. Just-- his wings shift, fanning out slightly, then drawn back in to rest. Itching. So long as they do something /soon/.
Rasiyoth 's watches with avid amusement in his eyes when she rubs her hands on... someone elses robe. That's his girl. He lifts his chin proudly and creeps along after her. She can't go to the food /alone/. No, no. He'll have none of that. Creel. Hungry, still.
No mop, right. Isforaith gets it, with a melodramatic sigh. But he still eyes that mop for a moment before taking one more long taste of the floor. Then: << Oil? There's oil. I could use some of that. Does it make stuff taste better? Because whatever I just got... I think I have a, a-->> It takes him a moment to pull the word out of his rider's mind, still with little effort made to quiet his voice. Maybe he doesn't realize he's talking so loud. << I think I ate a dust bunny. >>
After making a few rounds, checking in here, helping out there, Persie's clothes have taken on that well-meat-juiced, well-oiled look. There are smudges on her face too, of which she seems wholly unaware. Chance are no one else will notice either. And she's still smiling too, even when she comes back toward B'tal and W'chek. "It's right next to you. Here, in the this bucket," she tells Whit, giving said oil bucket a little kick. "Just slather it on. There are paddles, rags, your hands: whatever you want to use. Just try not to dump it."
B'tal is somewhat oblivious to the issues others are having or not having even if he happens to witness some with his own eyes. "Oh, Jeibeth," he breathes out, his gaze bright, "I'm not upset. I don't know if I could be right now." His reassurances linger even as he moves his hands to rub and ease the itch of the baby green's paws.
The next BIG THING from Isforaith doesn't faze Meara in any expected old person way. She's not throwing her arms up and tearing her clothes to drop ashes on her head to wail and moan at her lot in life. No. Instead, the weyrlingmaster takes this as the cue to finally get to her feet, with a practiced hand straightening her bloodied clothes and considers the blue dragon and his new rider. "Z'yi. I think you're right and I think I might know just the right person for you to talk to sometime when-," a brown gaze strays down to Isforaith and the swallowing of dust bunnies, a fact she doesn't know which is sad, because it's funny. "He's growed up a bit."
"Thanks," W'chek manages to add to Persie, before retreating off into his little world again. Shoulders twist a little, crawling sympathetically. "No, you wouldn't like it. I know. Here. Let's just--" He gets a rag, dips it in, applies gingerly to the complaining spots. No mess. Rubbed in before dipping the rag again. "Is that a little better? Tell me when it stops." As though somehow he might not know.
Xadovith instinctively braces himself against that steering, that /pushing/, only he doesn't stop... which leads to a screech of claws against stone as he goes back-back-back-"Hang /on/," Leova interjects. Firmly. "Take it easy." And then there's a gravel-and-electricity sense of Vrianth /trying/ to be gentle with the young mind and translate at the very same time, minus a few interjections of the green's along the way: "Tell him, and think it while you say it, that you will open your mouth, but not to eat. Just so he can look. Tell him that this is meat, and dragons have to eat raw meat, and humans have to eat meat that isn't raw, so it doesn't make you sick and," here her gaze looks momentarily distant, "No, you don't have to build up a tolerance. Dragons and humans are different, kid," this presumably for Xadovith, "Just like how your rider doesn't have those great wings like yours," that are going to need oiling any minute. And she looks at K'ndro. And waits. Expectantly. For him to open his mouth.
Z'yi takes a deep breath. "Come here, ninny," he tells Raith, beckoning him closer with a juicy chunk of herdbeast. "You're getting full, even if you don't know it." /Isz/ can feel it. How odd. "I'll slather a coat of oil on you and you can finish eating and then..." Is he rambling? Maybe he's just talking that loud to unconciously talk /over/ the loudness of his lifemate. He collects a paddle and gets to, taking his first real good look at that withered paw, his face turning just a bit concerned. There's a bare glance over his shoulder to Meara, and he carefully, carefully oils around the marred limb.
Zhikath's relief, on the application of oil, is so fervent that it probably extends past W'chek and out towards his clutchmates, as well, and perhaps even his weyrlingmasters. << /Oh/. >> Like that. Yes. Perfect. He has gone completely still again, now that this is being attended to, a statue of perfection growing increasingly less itchy, not to mention less hungry, as time passes.
Ajatha couldn't very well have wiped her hands on her -own- robe, now could she? Anyway, there's meat, and she's already quickly getting it down to size, offering one piece over at Rasiyoth. "Havath goes where Mama is. And Aunt Alina, Aunt Juniper, and Aunt Jaeni? Maybe. Mama's bound to have told them. I would not be surprised, love. Open y'mouth. And chew. Don't just hork it down. Cheeew."
<< Gonna sleep for a week, >> finishes Isforaith. And it's a good thing he picked a big rider to suit his big self, because he sprawls his forelegs over Z'yi and tries to stick the injured one right in his face when Z'yi tries to oil around it. Isforaith gives it a shake, says, << No, no, start here. >> And, mock-under his breath, << Ninny. >>
C'sel has stepped away for a moment or two while Ajatha was busy with the oiling part of things to provide more guidance to a dark blue with his head stuck in a bucket. "Slow down," the brownrider advises lowly and makes a slowing motion with one hand. And there's Ajatha starting to feed Rasiyoth and he returns to observe, arms folded across chest.
Persie has to laugh when Zhikath goes all happy statue. "I think you might have hit the spot," she giggles to W'check. And meanwhile, she's peering into his meat bucket to see how much is left. "Think you'll need more or is he pretty satisfied?" She eyes the bronze again to see if there are any meat-shaped lumps poking out around his belly. She glance B'tal's way too. "How's she doing?"
Perhaps that's why Meara's latched onto Isziyo. The presence of that crippled paw and though she pretends not to take notice, she's watching out of that corner of her eye. For now, Z'yi is relieved of all of the greenrider's particular brand of attention as she looks around the cavern to the weyrlingmasters helping where they can and now, as things are perhaps dying down a little, she lifts her voice in a clear pitch that's used to cutting through the din authoritatively: "When your dragonets start getting sleepy. Help them to one of the many wallows they can use as their couch. Many of them have been filled with fresh rushes mixed with mint and rosemary and if you find a wallow you'd like but it's not been made all the rushes are located just outside the barracks in the training cavern." Then, a breath is taken. "If you feel up to it, there's a party in the living caverns to join and perhaps your parents to go tend to as well, and if not, one of the assistants will make apologies on your behalf as you rest here with your new dragon."
"You're a retard." Z'yi, now a three year old. He oils the injured paw thoroughly, after he's righted himself from falling over from Raith's bulk against him. "It'll get better," he authoritively states with all the mental gumption of Butters. Wait. Does that make Iovniath, Sue? Ahem. "Sleep for a week. Yeah. Sure. As soon as we get you to your rushes." Z'yi paddles down the rest of the blue's forefront, then rearranges himself artistically - or perhaps just creatively - to oil the back half. "I've got food to get, myself." He's hungry. He was sleeping when Milani woke him up for all this mess!
Jeibeth looks up at B'tal and croons softly as he begins to ease the itch in her paw. << Yes. That's just right. Thank you. And I'm glad that you're not upset. It's a good time right now, isn't it? Everyone is ... mostly happy. >> Mostly, because she's shooting a draconic look of askance towards Isforaith again and then returning to /her/ weyrling. Persie's approach and the question lift the little green's head and she lets out a bright warble of welcome for the blonde. << You know this one. You have nice thoughts of her in your head. >>
Another chunk of meat and more oil for that gleaming bronze and W'chek works it in carefully. "I think that should be it," he tells Persie. A glance back at Zhikath. "Is that enough? Is it--" Little glance over towards Z'yi at that 'retard' bit, utterly uncomprehending, how could anyone say that in this moment of such perfect harmony? W'chek is not going to be calling Zhikath names anytime soon. Except his own: "We good, Zhikath?"
Zhikath certainly seems quite content, though he's drooping a little. Not /completely/ ready to sleep, but - energy, beginning to flag. His neck extends, as the oiling continues, almost cat-like in his appreciation.
Isforaith, unflustered, << And I picked you. >> Says something, don't it. He eyes Z'yi for a moment, then his paw. Apparently that job is not good enough, because while his rider works over his back half--there's a lot of it--he leans forward to just stick his whole hurt paw in the bucket. The contents overflows around it, mixes with oil and blood, but that's just par for the course by now. With a sigh, << Oh, yeah. That's better. >>
K'ndro winces for that screech of claws and chide from Leova both. "Shells, I'm sorry." Instant contrition, he'd meant to be gentle! But that nose was threatening to leave bruises, too. Listening to Leova, nodding his head even as his brows furrow into a squiggly quirk of concentration. Dutifully repeating everything he's told to repeat, and man is it -weird- having to consciously think about it at the same time! At least about the food. He's pausing over opening his mouth for inspection, but finally, and not without a disgruntled little glance, "Fine." And down his jaw drops, to be examined like a runner for sale at a Gather auction. Yay? At least he's got good teeth? And lingering klah-breath, maybe, from the Time Before Xadovith. The human of the pair is still more worried about the sinister-looking bronzes state of being, knowing that hide is going to need tending to.
Rasiyoth opens his maw, requesting the food. He'll take the first few chunks without swallowing, bad dragonet. But after the reminder, he begins to chew. Slowly. Savoring the meat. Then swallow. More. More.
B'tal glances up at Persie when he hears her voice directed toward them. Jeibeth's comment probably helps, too. "Oh! She's brilliant," he says, but then he looks at the green and asks, "Right?" More privately to her, he murmurs, "It's perfect. And that's Persie. She's nice to me." Which the young man appreciates so very much. His hands still rub and he asks, "Is your other okay?"
Ajatha lets out a little sound of denial at Rasiyoth, almost scolding, yet never entering that category fully. "Hey, none of that. Chew! No, you can't eat that fast. Slow down! You'll get choked or something, and you won't feel good. Then you won't want to sleep." Cause and effect. See, it's all logical. When he starts eating regularly with the chewing, Ajatha nods approvingly and reaches to rub a slick eyeright. "/Our/ family. You'll meet them soon enough. Come, eat. Slow!"
Z'yi oofs... sighs... and lays his forehead against one oiled section of Isforaith's hide. Oh yeah. That's totally going to break out. "You'regoingtobetheendofmyaren'tyou." It's exhaled all at once, before lifting his head, swiping his forehead ineffectually against one forearm. The back-end done, Isz turns about in such a way to lift his lifemate's paw out of oil bucket. "No. If you need any of that, you ask first." Rule #1. It's stated firmly, with all the qualities one would say to an overlarge overhyper puppy.
"I can get this out of the way then," Persie answers W'chek, taking up the mostly empty and perfectly sloppy bucket. Even though the smile is still plastered on her face, she's not quite skipping about any more. "If he does get hungry again, whenever, there'll be meat over there," she informs the weyrling, pointing toward the place. It's over there. Somewhere. Turning toward B'tal, she grins all the more. "She -is- brilliant. And beautiful." With a free hand, she gives Jeibeth a little twiddling finger wave. "Are you guys done with your meat bucket?" Since she's trying to clean up a bit.
A moment of eyes closed, blissful smile--is this W'chek we're talking about, here? Then he pulls himself back to the task at hand, rubbing the rest of the oil in. "Yes. Of course. Tomorrow," he reassures. "And always. Today it's just a matter of getting you taken care of. Then you can have a rest, and... tomorrow."
"Good on the slowing down," C'sel says after a moment as Ajatha gets the brown to slow his inhalation of meat. "You wouldn't want your tail to get thick," he says directly to Rasiyoth, testing out perhaps if he'll listen outside of Ajatah. "If your family is here, I do hope that you will get to see them," he offers quietly over to the weyrling herself. "Once he is settled you may go to the feast if you wish and are not too tired, yourself."
Xadovith does inspect, and drops his jaw so he can run his tongue around his own teeth... and then he's leaning forward as though he'd lick around /K'ndro's/ teeth, except Leova murmurs, "Easy, easy, no tongue. See? You have good teeth for raw meat. Humans don't." And then Meara's talking, and Leova's got that relief sinking into her shoulders, and she says afterward, "A little more if you want. And then, oiling. And then sleep." Xadovith? More interested in reassuring his rider, << She doesn't have good teeth either. I suppose I can let it go... this time. >> And then he arches up against his rider's hand: see, they're getting oiled, he can feel them relaxing as that itch goes away. So oil /him/, already.
If his paw moved better, Isforaith would probably be flicking oil off his claws at Z'yi. As is, he mostly just drips on him. << I can do it myself, >> he says stubbornly. And he shifts to stick the paw back in there, his weight rested more on it this time so he can't be pulled out. Even if it doesn't feel too great on his poor foot. He begins, << So this bed thing. >> Beat. << Oh. Oh, no. One more time. Hell's bells, make it stop! >> And his big blue butt gives a wiggle, wallowing in the blood and oil as he starts itching again.
Rasiyoth takes another chunk from the hand of /his/ Ajatha. << So hungry... >> He continues to tell her. But it sounds as if he's starting to trail off in his mental ramblings to her. He's not asking as many questions, his concern seeming to focus almost entirely on the food in front of him. Chew, chew, chew. Swallow. << More, please. I want them /all/ to visit us. >> This isn't new though, simply repetition of a previous desire. C'sel is given a look. An unhappy eye-tinged-bad-color look. The next piece of meat is chomped and swallowed, little chewing. << Me, me. Attention to /us/. Not him. I can eat myself. >>
Jeibeth waits patiently until B'tal is through with her first paw, then lifts the other and rests it in his lap as well, eyes still on Persie. << I am pleased about that. Please tell her so, B'tal? >> And then she lets out a little whuff. << All of my paws itch. And ... >> her wings rustle, gather, cluster, the fan closing tightly. << Just there, between my shoulders. Perhaps if you could wipe my muzzle, we may enjoy the oil in full now? Together? >>
And the first battle of wills commenses. Isz leans unsubtly against the shoulder attached to the leg attatched to the bum foot. Something's gotta give eventually, and Z'yi - at least for right now - has more muscle. Really. "If you take your damned foot out of the oil, maybe I could get the /paddle/ in there and put /oil/ on what's itching." Though some may laugh at Z'yi for even attempting to use logic on the blue.
Eugh! K'ndro might be in love with Xadovith, but dragon-kisses would just be like, waaaaaaay too gross to contemplate. His jaw snaps shut even before Leova's first 'easy' gets completed, a dubious eye slanted towards his lifemate even as a fondly amused smile plays about his lips. "Blood off m'hands, fine. Ye ain't lickin' m'face." A tilted-head check to see if Xadovith is wanting any more food, but then he'll be carelessly plunging both hands into a bucket of oil as soon as he can locate one and drag it over. Paddles? Rags? Who needs 'em! At least this first time, he wants to feel that warm hide beneath his fingers, scooping oil over the shadows and rubbing it in gently.
W'chek massages in the last of the oil, still all smiles. "And the day after. I'll be... near. If you need me, you can always call." Fingers linger there, after, wonderingly. Not just a dragon, this time. Not just someone else's dragon. A look around. "He's tired. Which--where does he sleep?" Looking over all these couches.
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Isforaith does not move, except for the rustle of his rusted-out wings together as they start itching, too. << There's other buckets, >> he points out. << This one is for my foot. I'm /crippled/. >> Nevermind it doesn't look like it's hindered him too much. << Scary Lady might get you another. Except she's scary. Nevermind. I'll just itch. >>
"She's pleased," B'tal translates for Jeibeth in his own way and adds, "She -is- beautiful." Of course she is. She's Jeibeth. She could probably look like a herdbeast and he'd think the same thing. A distracted smile is beamed at Persie. He starts on the same motions with her second paw as the first and says, "I'll get to everything." But he moves to get something to wipe Jeibeth's muzzle with so they can continue with the oil and foot rubs now that things have fallen into place and he's not making any faux pas unintentionally.
There may technically be better implements for oil-spreading, and they may even later on hang in their shared weyr (complete with white-painted outlines to mark exactly where they have to be put back) in the Turns to come, but could there be any question whatsoever that what Xadovith /prefers/ is the touch of K'ndro's bare hands on him? Xadovith doesn't even bother informing K'ndro that he's letting him get away with it /this/ time, no, he's already doing that thing where he tries to climb onto his rider for that much more attention, much as he'd done when he hatched. Leova? Has taken a chance to check on Ebeny, somewhere in there, and now drifts between the two pairs in an easy sort of way, grabbing a wet cloth for her hands at the same time B'tal does, so she can safely push back her hair. "Might see if your family's about, in a bit," the greenrider adds to them generally.
Zhikath will, in the meantime, be more than happy with the meat. Though he wiggles. Just once. Then again. Then he stills, probably requiring great concentration to do so, which does slow down further his consumption of that meat. Twitch. Just for a moment. Just-- his wings shift, fanning out slightly, then drawn back in to rest. Itching. So long as they do something /soon/.
"Less swallow, more chew," Ajatha rumbles at the brown and picks more meat to supply to him. "If they are, then I'm sure they'll linger about. We've family here, somewhere." Somewhere seeming to be the operative word. "Isziyo, having trouble still? Does.. he have a bucket stuck on his foot?" Seriously? Drawing her attention back to Rasiyoth, she leans in to wrap an arm around his neck for a soothing hug. "Here, eat. My attention's on you every minute."
"Wherever you want," Persie answer W'chek, poking her pointy chin toward those couches he's looking over so longingly. "Just pick one and get him over there if he's going down. They're hard to move once they fall asleep." Since Jeibeth does seem done, Persie takes up her meat bucket too, combining them and fitting them together as she gives the green and B'tal another enormous grin.
Nodding, C'sel takes an unassuming step back, as Rasiyoth's eyes tinge the way they do and Ajatha speaks aloud about attention, his focus sharpens though on this aspect of the pair though he mentions nothing about it at the moment. "Good. Do let me know if you need anything. There's couches, you're free to pick any one of them, as you tire," he says in a neutral tone, making of himself a quiet and fairly unobtrusive, but anchoring presence.
"I don't /care/ that you're /crippled/, you are /mine/ and will behave appropriately if I have to beat you over the head with a stick!" With an Ozark folk-art masterpiece, you know. That's Z'yi. Hollering at his dragon. Get used to it, it's probably going to happen. A lot.
Jeibeth nudges her nose into the cloth B'tal provides for her muzzle, happy to be cleaned up. Once he's through though, she stretches her neck out a little, regarding the couches and cots. << Let's go pick out our spot, then we can be comfortable while you oil me, don't you think? >> She suggests to B'tal with a little quirk of her head that isn't coy now, but may be as she gets older. There's a little flip of her tail on the end of that and she tilts her head towards Persie briefly, crooning her approval of the blonde. Then she's stretching up onto all four paws to make her way, in as stately a manner as possible towards the sleeping accomodations. Alas for someone's forgotten oil rag which becomes an impromptu sock and she looks down at it, then back up at B'tal, mournful.
Rasiyoth is chewing more now. At least he's starting doing so since C'sel has taken a step back. He doesn't seem too thrilled that the guy is still there though. His eyes occasionally whirling in his direction. << Mine is on /you/ every minute. >> Except for when it's on that strange blue. << He doesn't seem very smart, Jathi. Note that. >> More chewing. << Neither is his rider... he's loud. Probably not smart either. We can use the slow. Right? >> His appetite is slowing. << Maybe just a little more. >>
"You'll come first," W'chek says to his dragon agreeably, then casts a sideways glance at Isforaith and Z'yi. "If you--say so," quieter, but amused. Then he stands, gives a look around, picks out a couch right next to one of the hearths where it will stay especially warm, guides Zhikath in that direction. "Yes, a couch. Over here. Will this do? This can be our place."
Isforaith << Doesn't care that I'm crippled. Do you /hear/ the way he treats me? >> complains Isforaith, though with amusement lighting his words. He got yelled at. << Okay, okay, Hoss. Don't bust a brain... vessel... thing. >> There's probably a wittier way to put that, but the blue's finally getting a little tired around the edges, though he tries not to show it. Maybe that's why he gives in, extracts his paw from the oil bucket finally. << You're a lot of trouble, y'know. >> As though he can talk.
"Claws!" Is K'ndro's startled yelp as a lapful of Xadovith sends him wobbling backwards, laughing in his easy rumble. He's not really complaining, reaching oil-slick hands to gently rearrange pokey paws. "Yer gonna get t'big fer this, one day," which probably means he shouldn't be allowing it -now.- Still, regardless of practicality and oil and general mess, he takes a brief time out to loop his arms round that slender neck, tip his forehead to rest against darkling jaw. Then carefully, carefully, extracting himself to finish that oiling, hands slathering and petting, all due attention devoted. "Need t'pick ye a bed b'fore th'best ones're claimed," he murmurs.
Zhikath is easy enough to lead, taking careful steps after - and with - his rider towards that chosen couch. His head inclines into it, inspecting it carefully before, apparently, it passes muster, and he steps into it. Inside, he gives it another once over, turning around, and then settles back down into a seated position, his head resting upon his forelimbs.
"Don't call me Hoss, beetle-bug," Z'yi affectionately states. He slaps the blue on the haunch. "Up, y'lazy git. We're getting you to a bed. Now." He's already picked out one. Don't worry, it's next to B'tal's. Maybe the effortless grace of Jeibeth will rub off on Raith. (If only he was that lucky.)
<< Sure thing, Hoss. >> Telling him no just seems to encourage Isforaith, but he does get up to shuffle his way over to the couch beside Jeibeth. He hardly notices the green already there at first; it's more of an ordeal hauling his long body into the wallow, and he does it with a couple of grunts and scuffing. Good thing he's all oiled up already. And then he sprawls out gracelessly on the straw to take his bearings, notice Jeibeth, and freeze. << Er, >> he says to her, intelligently.
Xadovith gets murmured at, hugged, petted, happy. /Also/ yelled at, or at least yelped at. Bonus! From K'ndro's lap, his now-quiet, garlicky tenor mentions as an increasingly sleepy sort of shadow, << Need one where we can /see/. >> See exits, see the others, see it all. And right now? Right here is just right. Right where they are. Right.
"Ours," W'chek says, barely stifling a yawn of his own--or maybe not really his own. He settles down beside the couch, reaches out to rest a hand on his dragon's muzzle. His dragon. Going to have to get used to that someday. Not today, more than likely. "Sleep," he suggests. "I should be back by the time you wake up. I'm sure I will be. I just need to see... some people. To tell them about you."
That's Z'yi laughing in the background at that comment.
Hysterically.
"Now, Rasiyoth," Ajatha starts and lifts her eyebrows instead, the pale head tipping in amusement. "That's not nice to say. Though. Why in the world he put his foot in a bucket, I can't tell." C'sel's remembered presence brings in a remembered glance. Uh. "Iszy! Save us a couch!" Right. So, she eyes Rasiyoth. "I'll, uh, make note of that. What're you on about? Tired yet?"
B'tal glances at Leova when she mentions families but he doesn't respond, instead focusing with just a little more intensity on Jeibeth. He follows her toward the couches, a bucket of oil hefted with one hand. When she gets an old oil rag stuck to one of her paws, B'tal can't help but laugh at the girliness that keeps her from moving. "I'm sorry. Here," he says and helps her to remove it, even giving himself for her to lean against if she needs it. He glances briefly at Z'yi and the blue, letting Jeibeth get situated while he interests himself in putting the old rag where it should be before rejoining the green.
Zhikath huffs warm air up at W'chek, as that hand rests on his muzzle, his eyes slowing now that weariness is taking over, though they're still bright with joy, shaded increasingly often between at least one set of eyelids, if not all three.
"Here, here!" Z'yi hollers over his shoulder at Ajatha, pointing on the other side. Check it! Green, blue, brown. Now, if Mik can set up shop on the other side of Ajatha, they can have a rainbow. "Quit fussin' at the lady. She hasn't done anything to you. Sleep." He roughly tousels a hand over Raith's headknobs with a fondly irrascible grin, and straightens to stand, stretching out cramped, and suddenly tired, shoulders.
Rasiyoth insists, << Because he is. Don't be so /worried/. And shh... Not so loud. We can talk here. >> With their minds, together as one. << You should get some paper and write all of this down. >> He's no longer requiring food and he does /sound/ sleepy now. << Yes. I think so. I'd like to lay down, at least for a little while, love. >>
More laughing. Isforaith glares at Z'yi for that, says, very precisely, << I hate you. >> But he does settle down, with a last sheepish look at Jeibeth. And after that it doesn't take long, and he's out like a light, more or less just falling over on himself. He's probably going to hurt tomorrow, between that paw, his wings half-twisted under him, and tail flopping in the aisle over the side of his couch; but for now, there's no waking him up at all.
When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 19
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
What: Isforaith wreaks mayhem.
"It's Meara," says the weyrlingmaster, drawing up together her own lanky limbs and taking that first step towards the dark, glowlit tunnel. They could just stand there at the tunnel's edge and peer waaaaaaaaaay in. Maybe yell a few times to see if it'll echo, but with an easy hand that reaches to place congenially on Z'yi's shoulder, should he not dodge, move, or twitch, the greenrider takes in a deep breath and mutters under her breath, "Well, here we go." Maybe she's just as nervous, and then they emerge on the other side and she's breathing once more.
K'ndro settles into a kneel, fond and amused even as Xadovith is sliming Leova. "Here now," he rumbles quietly as he reaches towards that muzzle, fingers gently curving beneath jaw as his other hand does exactly what Leova suggested. Which is, reaching into the bucket and grabbing a handful. "Patience," which might not be necessary, lost within the darkness and the light, as that first bite of much-needed meat is offered, with more to follow at a steady, if hands-shaking-still, pace.
Rasiyoth begins to headbutt Ajatha, rubbing his eyeridges on the pants of her leg. Itchy. Itchy. Itchy now that the dampness from his egg has subsided.
Jeibeth delicately takes the offered piece of meat from B'tal and closes her mouth, tasting it fully first before that first movement of jaws. He needed worry apparently about her chewing because she does so slowly and carefully, eyes half-lidding as she considers this new sensation. Eventually, that first piece is all chewed up and swallowed and Jeibeth inclines her head for the next bit if B'tal is ready.
Z'yi doesn't mind the touchy-feely weyrlingmaster, instead offering her something of a slightly grateful smile at the contact. It reminds him that he is here on Pern and this isn't some just technicolor dream. He keeps a hand on Isforaith, however, as if to /really/ reassure him of such. "No, I know, I know. Food." The word is stated with a certain underlying urgency, but Z'yi still looks like he's in a daze as he enters the barracks.
Zhikath would /never/ bite his W'chek. No matter how hungry. He extends his mouth with the same kind of measured care as he moved his limbs, taking the meat into his mouth with a whuff of warm breath, his tongue reaching out to lick up the blood. Then, his head lifts: More? Eyes meet eyes once more, content and adoring.
Ajatha strolls in after C'sel with her head nodding in agreement of what's being said. Oh, she so seems to have heard this before, but instead of making it too obvious, she laughs softly and nods. "Okay, okay. Itches first. Yes, oiling comes first. Come, love." Instantly with the love stuff, she's moving.. that way to grab something to oil the brown with. Whee!
Once there, Meara releases Z'yi's shoulder - or perhaps it got released somewhere down the line. Does it even matter at this point? Everything being the dreamy haze it is. On the heels of her very audible, unnerved breath, the greenrider looks across the expanse of weyrlings in the barracks, all sixteen of them, that are in various states of eating, biting, sliming, oiling. "Oh boy. Oh boy." She totally wishes she were I'daur at this moment and while instinct and those raised hands to maybe come together in a clap that never happens, everyone seems just so cute and too adorable to interrupt, so instead the warm-voiced alto says aloud to Z'yi, "One second and I'll be back with a bucket, paddle, and some lovely assortments of intestines or whatever we have here. Be right back! Sit, make yourself all comfy, your feet must be on fire." Chirping brightly, the spry woman waves her way through the crowds.
Xadovith lets K'ndro turn his head, for now, though there's strength in his still-narrow neck that means even K'ndro can't turn it any old which way. For a purpose? Yes, and then instinct gets him actually eating, his eyes turning a still-muted blue. << Patience, >> he repeats, and what is that, anyway? At one point, between bites, he licks at K'ndro's bloodied hands as though he really must get them clean.
When he has the next ready for her, B'tal just watches her chew with something like wonderment. He offers it to her when the first is swallowed, then repeats the process. So much to say and he can't decide what he actually wants to come out of his mouth!
Oh, love! Yes, yes. Rasiyoth keeps in near contact with Ajatha this entire time. His eyes are attentive on her, even as he continues to try and rub his 'ridges on her still. Then that oil comes in view. Oooh, oil.
The withered paw of Isforaith doesn't seem to slow him down; his other long legs keep up just fine with Z'yi as they stalk into the barracks. And it doesn't stop him, either, from impatiently pulling ahead of his newfound rider, either. Z'yi's in a daze so he'll just handle himself, barging right up to waiting buckets of food without waiting on Meara to fetch, either. She's an old woman, no need for her to wait on him. Now if only he could have stopped before he ran into them and started everything to spilling and clanging on the stone...
Following after Ajatha as she heads over to fetch oil for Rasiyoth, C'sel waits a moment, observing in silence. "You have done this before?" He asks after a moment, a quirk of his brows, slight as continues to watch the pair together.
W'chek follows with more, sure enough. Another piece of meat offered, much more sure this time. "Make sure to... chew it?" He's not a great advice giver, here. All that not-paying-attention business. But watching others, he does the best he can. "I think," he offers in the general direction of K'ndro, "I need that pinching now."
Jeibeth takes the next offered piece of meat just as delicately as the first, her jaws moving carefully. Once she has swallowed her head tips to bump gently against B'tal's shoulder, eyes lifted to his face with clear adoration. He's taking such good care of her!
Persie looks from B'tal and Jeibeth to W'chek and Zhikath and back again. There is chewing. "Good chewing!" It's lame, but she's excited and frazzled and so it's probably the best she can do. "Just keep going until they're done and full and they start to itch. That's what the oil bucket is for." Then with a blink, she looks from side to side again. "You impressed!" Like she's just realize this just now, or more likely as though it's only now just properly sunk in.
Zhikath inhales that piece of meat with the same kind of precision as the first, but there's definite chewing, which is, at least, /something/. His tail snakes around, seeking out any part of W'chek that it can reach, though the bronze seems otherwise content to rest himself comfortably, wings drawn back, head seeking again for more meat.
Meara is on her merry way back to Z'yi, whose well into making a racket and a possible mess (?), when she passes by W'chek and stretches forth a slighty bloody set of fingers to tweak his shoulder. "Awake yet? No? I'll be back then." But it's to Z'yi her focus remains -- a Z'yi and Isforaith who are now... the aging woman pauses and just stares. "Oh boy. Oh boy. I think you might have left your brain, or possibly your legs back out in the heat, kid."
Z'yi stares after Isforaith. A sudden insight strikes Z'yi, and a look of total, /utter/ mortification and horror crosses his typically quiet-faced countenance. "Oh, /crap/," he states, loud enough for any around to hear. Unstated is the rest of the statement: This is the rest of my life. And it could really, really suck. ... Well, not the lifemate and never being alone part. But the cleaning up part. Way belatedly, he strides forwards. "Raith. Raith. /Raith/, slow /down/," hopping to right buckets and thrust a piece of food at the blue. He looks up at Meara, a helpless 'why me' look, as he tries to attempt to have forty hands. All at once.
Ajatha gets that whole oil kit thingy going and reaches over to slather the oil over Rasiyoth's hide, especially on where he's itching on her at. "Oh, you like my beads? Thank you, dearest." Ignore her wriggling. The look on her face - she's a woman in love. Uhoh. She shakes her head absently with a little laugh to C'sel. "No. But Mother's a weyrlingmaster. I've heard a little bit about what happens." A little bit.
That clanging, it startles Leova up from her intent watch of Xadovith, of Laurienth who managed to get a lump of meat stuck between her teeth. Starting to rise, rising enough to see Meara pausing by him, she sinks back down in a particularly unglamorous bobbing motion, and just finds herself laughing in a low, muttery, muffled-in-her-elbow sort of way. "Better?" As much for K'ndro as Ebeny.
K'ndro, for all he's a chatty sort normally, has moments when even for him silence is just the best course of action. Silence allows him to think, or try to. Patience? Patience is... the steady measure of meat bites, carefully chewed and properly swallowed before another one is given. Calm acceptance of this as being necessary, despite the demands of the body. Of course it's more complicated than that, too. "Easy, Xadovith," he rumbles, promptly getting more blood on his hands as he dips into the bucket again. Though that 'easy' is probably more for himself than his new lifemate, actually.
The little bucket in her hands literally look like they're about to droop as far down as her shoulders are sagging. While Z'yi looks helpless with his 'why me' look, Meara might give that same expression to the heavens, or the ceiling at least. "Well," she begins, her alto filling with slow humor, "I don't think this'll be much help but here." Shove of oil bucket and paddle to the bluerider. "I will be back with a mop, /unless they start munching off the floor first./" She says it just loud enough to possibly be heard over all the racket and din of baby dragons eating. What better way than to clean up a floor than to promote hygienic /eating off the floor by baby dragons/! Go get 'em, kids.
If a dragon could sigh with relief, Rasiyoth would do it right now. He does breath out a nice little huff, relaxing and settling as that oil is slathered on his eye. He stares up at Ajatha's face with eyes so full of love, they're practically brimming.
B'tal laughs like he might cry when Jeibeth bumps his shoulder. Except that he's already shed a few tears since their first encounter. He offers another piece and his wide blue gaze turns to take in the rest of the barracks. "I think everyone's enjoying their meals just fine," he assures her. "Are you full?" he asks.
"Ow!" Followed by a scowl after the Weyrlingmaster--but yes, W'chek is awake. He rubs at his shoulder, at the smear of blood left on the white robe. Picks out another piece of meat for Zhikath, nods down to the dragonet. "Not chewing would be bad," he agrees. "I don't--this just seems a little unreal. Like I could be asleep, and dreaming. But... I'm not. I know."
Comprehension dawns on C'sel's face and he inclines his head slightly. "Of course, then you will have heard stories from your mother," the brownrider's gaze roams over Rasiyoth though, as he seems to enjoy the oiling. "Be sure to give him a good even coating. When he no longer itches, be prepared to feed him. I will get a bucket for you while you're busy," the assistant informs and steps aside to do so. He pauses on the way to remind another pair to chew, voice as quiet as ever and waits to see that it is done, before securing a bucket and returning to Ajatha and Rasiyoth.
<< I can fix it! >> Isforaith says quickly, a booming voice aimed at the whole barracks. And look, he can, because after a moment of staring blankly at the mess, and trying to nudge a couple of pieces of meet back into a bucket with one paw, he discovers: hey, food! And a couple of quick gulps have him swallowing it down, before he looks at Z'yi again and lets the caution sink in. At least he doesn't choke. Or lick the now-bloody floor, though he looks like he's giving that some serious thought.
Careful, K'ndro: from here on, Xadovith might associate patience with he's-going-to-get-fed. For now, though, Xadovith pokes his muzzle, his /sharp/ muzzle, towards his rider's belly: he's going to have some too, yes? Yes. << /Yes/. >> With conviction.
Zhikath lifts his head in surprise and alarm at Meara's pinch of his rider: hey! Can't do that! It's not /right/. His rumble is warning, never mind his extreme youth, not to mention his extreme hunger. Which, at least, the meat in W'chek's hand can do something about.
Jeibeth accepts that next piece of meat from B'tal and once it's consumed, bends her head to daintily begin to take morsels for herself. In between bites, she looks around the barracks some more, taking in the others, now that her own immediate hunger is somewhat sated. << Fix? What requires fixing? >> Jeibeth inquires though her tone is curious, she also adds a gentling touch. << Though perhaps a little less ... volume, please? >> There's a tinkle of chimes to her sending, something soothing within it.
Z'yi is gonna be the life of the party from here on out. "Isforaith," he pronounces the whole name with a dangerous edge that threatens absolute doom if ignored, "I---" And here is Isziyo--er-- Z'yi, looking... completely at a loss. He could cry. He really could. Instead of Being Like Bet, however, he heedlessly snatches one of the one-too-many chunks of meat out of his lifemate's maw, and plops down right on his ass in the middle of a puddle of blood, and laughs so hard he /may/ cry tears of laughter. Hey. It feels good. You know. To laugh. In between laughing, he's trying to regulate Isforaith's eating. Really, he is.
Meara, swift old lady that she is, returns momentarily with a mop. Only to find one of her charges hysterical on the floor. So she stands there, leaned against the mop and eyes Isziyo. What part of the owner's manual referenced: Hysterical Weyrlings? Oh crap, what part was it?! So, ditching mop, it falls to the ground in a clunk for someone else to trip over, the greenrider takes up shop next to Isziyo and just puts a hand on one of his knees - maybe the fact that there's someone nearby might help! Touching him? In not so awkward places? And for Isforaith, she just gives this stern little look: "Son, if you don't lick all that up, tomorrow will be awkward for you. This is your bed I think."
A deep breath, another piece of meat offered whenever Zhikath finishes. "You're very real," W'chek says, laying his hand along the sleek bronze neck. "Don't mean to doubt. It's not that I didn't think you would find me, it's that--" Pause. "I didn't know there was a me to find." Or something. There's still bafflement there on his face along with the smile.
Isforaith Okay, Meara is a /scary/ old woman. Isforaith has collapsed in a pile of limbs himself next to his rider, his eyes alit with amusement while he snaps up every bit of food that's offered him. But when the weyrlingmaster comes over, his long muzzle swings up to look at her, eyes whirling faster. He scrambles to his feet, appropriately cowed. And so he sets about cleaning up the floor, all by his lonesome. Liiiick. Must be Cadejoth's son after all.
Ajatha pulls back just a fraction in surprise at Rasiyoth and narrows her eyes on him with laughter lighting her eyes to a silvery gray. "Hey! What're you doing going through my thoughts, you silly thing. Yes, that is my mother, Rajazad. She gave me these. And these," She stops to touch the smaller ones in her braids that are obviously harder to work with. "Are from Daddy." Babbling absently, it seems she's only got eyes for Rasiyoth, though she shoots a thankful smile at C'sel and moves on to keep that coat of slimy oil even and whatnot. "Are you hungry, yet?" See.
K'ndro is doing a good job at being oblivious, though at clatters and bangs and a bit of hysteria his head has come up to see what the commotion is. "-Isz.-" Pleased, though his voice remains quiet. And back to Xadovith almost immediately, as he's still trying to work out how to enlighten the sharp-nosed bronze as to all the subtleties 'patience' includes. Which is more-than-food, alot more. Maybe they'll just have to explore it as they go. "Better. Yes, I thi- ow!" A stern eye, an equally stern, "No, this is for -you- not me. I'll eat later. How do you feel?" Er, dumb? Maybe.
Zhikath is ready for that next piece of meat, oh yes, though his eyes are close upon W'chek while he eats, considering his rider with interest. He leans in, pressing his head towards W'chek's shoulder, then draw it back again, because, really, that position is /not/ good for the eating.
Z'yi straightens, swipes the laughter-tears from his eyes, and grins, with irrepressible amusement, up at Meara. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll help." He shambles up to his feet like an overlarge dog detatching himself from the carpet, and goes to help clean up after Isforaith, snabbing the mop and hipchecking the blue aside to get the tricky parts. "Eat slowly, or I will kill you." Brown gaze rises, to rather amusedly catch K'ndro's across the way, as improbable as it may seem. He points, like a dork, down to his lifemate. Hey dude, look what I got for Christmas!
C'sel sets the bucket down near Ajatha, within easy reach, a small smile on his face as he catches her recital about where the beads came from. He steps back a half pace though, again observing as the oil is applied. "Make sure to get into all of the folds of his limbs," the brownrider instructs quietly, with a gesture to the crook of a forelimb, or the crease of haunch. "When he eats, do not forget to remind him to chew."
B'tal lets Jeibeth starting taking her own meat and he wipes his hands on his robes, following her gaze and looking at Isziyo. He watches him for a handful of moments, then his attention is entirely on Jeibeth again. After he finds the other stuff provided for them like oil. A perfect excuse to continue touching the dragon while she eats her fill. He doesn't bother with a paddle as he begins smoothing some over her hide, rubbing away bits of stuff that shouldn't be there with great care. It's hard enough to process just the two of them let alone everyone else. "I don't know," he murmurs to her.
Rasiyoth hams all of this up. He's obviously enjoying all of the attention that he's getting from her. He even goes so far as to turn this way and that to allow her to oil him better. Chin lift, wing lift. Tail movement. When the question of food comes up, he begins to croon. His eyes taking on hints of red to underline his hunger.
That the dragon would actually /listen/ to her boggles Meara and it's visible for all of five seconds as she stares at how Isforaith has decided to lick the floors clean. Three blinks in succession and then she's bursting into unchecked, hearty laughter that threaten to pull tears from her eyes. "Oh, kid. Oh, what's your name again?" Does it matter? "Oh, kid. Good luck. Seriously. To you and me both."
Isforaith all but falls over when Z'yi nudges him, and he gives the weyrling a Look. Not yet good at moderating his fire-and-ale voice, he declares, << Hey, watch it! I'm crippled here. >> And he holds that one paw up in proof. Except, that is definitely meat scraps caught on his claws, so, with little heed for manners, he starts cleaning it off. << Do I get to eat that when you're done? >> And the image of the now bloody mop pops into his head.
"Perfect," says W'chek. He's obviously turning into some kind of an echo here. But whatever it's in response to, his smile broadens, and for a moment, he believes. "Just--perfect. Yes." There's not even the slightest bit attention paid to mess and trouble, because mess and trouble cannot possibly invade this little bubble right now. W'chek is happy. Nobody gets to screw that up.
Jeibeth pauses mid-bite as B'tal smooths oil onto her hide and she blinks a few times, then looks over her shoulder, looking at the stuff as it spreads along her side. She tips a look at the weyrling's face for a moment then outward into the barracks once more. << That really is /quite/ the mess, Isforaith. But why would you want to eat the cleaning tool? It's so ... stringy. >>
Zhikath would probably beam, if he could. If his mouth worked like that. But it's all in the eyes, though, between those straight-lined, dark brow-ridges, whirling so fast they might as well be spinning out of control. Then, another nudge: So... meat?
Less hungry, if the gnawing sensation Xadovith's likely been relaying to K'ndro is any indication: it's let up some, anyway. Which means that he pokes at K'ndro again: << Eat it. >> Obviously, if it's good for him, it's good for /him/. Only then it's followed by another look at his new-made rider, a /very/ close look at K'ndro that becomes: << Open your... >> a pause for the right word, plucked out of the tall weyrling's head, << Mouth. >>
There is a bloody-butt weyrling near by. There is a weyrlingmaster in fits and giggles on the floor and a dragon that's intent on cleaning the floor and lifting his bloody-meat-bedecked crippled paw in the air. And the laughter keeps on rolling. Poor Meara. Those squinty brown eyes look this way and that and finally she just gives into her loss of dignity. "Don't miss that spot." She'll be helpful and point out some blood smears but can't quite work herself to standing again. Likely, her clothes'll have to be tossed out.
"Oh," B'tal says, blinking back at Jeibeth and wiping his hands on his robes again. "Sorry," he says and his eyes dart for something to wipe it away with before he just uses the bottom of his robe to get the most of it off. He gives her a nervous laugh and lets her finish, glancing out over the rest of the barracks again.
Z'yi's lips twitch. "Isziy-- uh, Z'yi, ma'am," he states to the weyrlingmaster. "I'm sorry. I think... I think I'm gonna know you pretty well," he states, after a moment or two. And after the bloody-mop projection. "Can I say 'I'm sorry' in advance, one mor-- THAT'S THE OIL, Raith!" He doesn't care if the blue's crippled. "Tiriana's dragon gave me a crippled baby for a lifemate." Is that a taunt? From quiet, unassuming Isziyo? Oh crap. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gents; this is going to be one helluva wild ride. The affect of Z'yi's bold statement is somewhat toned down, however, as he hits his knees and beams like an idiot at his lifemate, as it hits him again. And then, a bare second later, "No, you /still/ can't eat the mop. Because I said so. Don't argue with me."
"No, never," Ajatha quickly reassures the unheard voice and beams at Rasiyoth, shaking her head. "You can go through my thoughts any time, love. I just - wasn't used to it." Food, right. Applying the oil all liberally to the wriggling brown, she retracts her greasy hand and wipes them off on.. something. Really, it wasn't someone else's robe. Moving off to go to the .. food, she grins. "Yes, we will see Kaelyth. He will bring her up here sometime to see you. He might even be here already. I didn't get a chance to look up at the gallaries." She chatters away happily, finally glancing up at the chaos that is the rest of the barracks and practically has to lean against the wall to cackle.
W'chek plucks out another piece of meat, offers it while looking around--"There was oil someplace?" called out to whoever might be listening. Somebody's job has to be to listen, right? "That's itching," he explains to his dragon. "They said there'd be that, too. Don't worry, we can do something about it."
Oh, they're going to butt heads already? "-No.-" K'ndro repeats, too preoccupied to return even a grin for Z'yi. Firm refusal, head shaking from side to side. "This," and he waggles the slimy hunk of meat held in his fist, "is your food. Not mine. -Stop- that." For the insistent poke, hand dipping and his own strength being used to steer that muzzle to one side and probably rick getting bit in the process. Pleadingly, he looks over towards Leova, "How do I make him understand?"
Jeibeth returns to her meal, eats a few more nuggets and lifts a paw, turning it over, to look at the bottom of it. Gently she drapes it across B'tal's thigh now, looking at her weyrling with what is clearly some kind of puzzlement.
Zhikath will, in the meantime, be more than happy with the meat. Though he wiggles. Just once. Then again. Then he stills, probably requiring great concentration to do so, which does slow down further his consumption of that meat. Twitch. Just for a moment. Just-- his wings shift, fanning out slightly, then drawn back in to rest. Itching. So long as they do something /soon/.
Rasiyoth 's watches with avid amusement in his eyes when she rubs her hands on... someone elses robe. That's his girl. He lifts his chin proudly and creeps along after her. She can't go to the food /alone/. No, no. He'll have none of that. Creel. Hungry, still.
No mop, right. Isforaith gets it, with a melodramatic sigh. But he still eyes that mop for a moment before taking one more long taste of the floor. Then: << Oil? There's oil. I could use some of that. Does it make stuff taste better? Because whatever I just got... I think I have a, a-->> It takes him a moment to pull the word out of his rider's mind, still with little effort made to quiet his voice. Maybe he doesn't realize he's talking so loud. << I think I ate a dust bunny. >>
After making a few rounds, checking in here, helping out there, Persie's clothes have taken on that well-meat-juiced, well-oiled look. There are smudges on her face too, of which she seems wholly unaware. Chance are no one else will notice either. And she's still smiling too, even when she comes back toward B'tal and W'chek. "It's right next to you. Here, in the this bucket," she tells Whit, giving said oil bucket a little kick. "Just slather it on. There are paddles, rags, your hands: whatever you want to use. Just try not to dump it."
B'tal is somewhat oblivious to the issues others are having or not having even if he happens to witness some with his own eyes. "Oh, Jeibeth," he breathes out, his gaze bright, "I'm not upset. I don't know if I could be right now." His reassurances linger even as he moves his hands to rub and ease the itch of the baby green's paws.
The next BIG THING from Isforaith doesn't faze Meara in any expected old person way. She's not throwing her arms up and tearing her clothes to drop ashes on her head to wail and moan at her lot in life. No. Instead, the weyrlingmaster takes this as the cue to finally get to her feet, with a practiced hand straightening her bloodied clothes and considers the blue dragon and his new rider. "Z'yi. I think you're right and I think I might know just the right person for you to talk to sometime when-," a brown gaze strays down to Isforaith and the swallowing of dust bunnies, a fact she doesn't know which is sad, because it's funny. "He's growed up a bit."
"Thanks," W'chek manages to add to Persie, before retreating off into his little world again. Shoulders twist a little, crawling sympathetically. "No, you wouldn't like it. I know. Here. Let's just--" He gets a rag, dips it in, applies gingerly to the complaining spots. No mess. Rubbed in before dipping the rag again. "Is that a little better? Tell me when it stops." As though somehow he might not know.
Xadovith instinctively braces himself against that steering, that /pushing/, only he doesn't stop... which leads to a screech of claws against stone as he goes back-back-back-"Hang /on/," Leova interjects. Firmly. "Take it easy." And then there's a gravel-and-electricity sense of Vrianth /trying/ to be gentle with the young mind and translate at the very same time, minus a few interjections of the green's along the way: "Tell him, and think it while you say it, that you will open your mouth, but not to eat. Just so he can look. Tell him that this is meat, and dragons have to eat raw meat, and humans have to eat meat that isn't raw, so it doesn't make you sick and," here her gaze looks momentarily distant, "No, you don't have to build up a tolerance. Dragons and humans are different, kid," this presumably for Xadovith, "Just like how your rider doesn't have those great wings like yours," that are going to need oiling any minute. And she looks at K'ndro. And waits. Expectantly. For him to open his mouth.
Z'yi takes a deep breath. "Come here, ninny," he tells Raith, beckoning him closer with a juicy chunk of herdbeast. "You're getting full, even if you don't know it." /Isz/ can feel it. How odd. "I'll slather a coat of oil on you and you can finish eating and then..." Is he rambling? Maybe he's just talking that loud to unconciously talk /over/ the loudness of his lifemate. He collects a paddle and gets to, taking his first real good look at that withered paw, his face turning just a bit concerned. There's a bare glance over his shoulder to Meara, and he carefully, carefully oils around the marred limb.
Zhikath's relief, on the application of oil, is so fervent that it probably extends past W'chek and out towards his clutchmates, as well, and perhaps even his weyrlingmasters. << /Oh/. >> Like that. Yes. Perfect. He has gone completely still again, now that this is being attended to, a statue of perfection growing increasingly less itchy, not to mention less hungry, as time passes.
Ajatha couldn't very well have wiped her hands on her -own- robe, now could she? Anyway, there's meat, and she's already quickly getting it down to size, offering one piece over at Rasiyoth. "Havath goes where Mama is. And Aunt Alina, Aunt Juniper, and Aunt Jaeni? Maybe. Mama's bound to have told them. I would not be surprised, love. Open y'mouth. And chew. Don't just hork it down. Cheeew."
<< Gonna sleep for a week, >> finishes Isforaith. And it's a good thing he picked a big rider to suit his big self, because he sprawls his forelegs over Z'yi and tries to stick the injured one right in his face when Z'yi tries to oil around it. Isforaith gives it a shake, says, << No, no, start here. >> And, mock-under his breath, << Ninny. >>
C'sel has stepped away for a moment or two while Ajatha was busy with the oiling part of things to provide more guidance to a dark blue with his head stuck in a bucket. "Slow down," the brownrider advises lowly and makes a slowing motion with one hand. And there's Ajatha starting to feed Rasiyoth and he returns to observe, arms folded across chest.
Persie has to laugh when Zhikath goes all happy statue. "I think you might have hit the spot," she giggles to W'check. And meanwhile, she's peering into his meat bucket to see how much is left. "Think you'll need more or is he pretty satisfied?" She eyes the bronze again to see if there are any meat-shaped lumps poking out around his belly. She glance B'tal's way too. "How's she doing?"
Perhaps that's why Meara's latched onto Isziyo. The presence of that crippled paw and though she pretends not to take notice, she's watching out of that corner of her eye. For now, Z'yi is relieved of all of the greenrider's particular brand of attention as she looks around the cavern to the weyrlingmasters helping where they can and now, as things are perhaps dying down a little, she lifts her voice in a clear pitch that's used to cutting through the din authoritatively: "When your dragonets start getting sleepy. Help them to one of the many wallows they can use as their couch. Many of them have been filled with fresh rushes mixed with mint and rosemary and if you find a wallow you'd like but it's not been made all the rushes are located just outside the barracks in the training cavern." Then, a breath is taken. "If you feel up to it, there's a party in the living caverns to join and perhaps your parents to go tend to as well, and if not, one of the assistants will make apologies on your behalf as you rest here with your new dragon."
"You're a retard." Z'yi, now a three year old. He oils the injured paw thoroughly, after he's righted himself from falling over from Raith's bulk against him. "It'll get better," he authoritively states with all the mental gumption of Butters. Wait. Does that make Iovniath, Sue? Ahem. "Sleep for a week. Yeah. Sure. As soon as we get you to your rushes." Z'yi paddles down the rest of the blue's forefront, then rearranges himself artistically - or perhaps just creatively - to oil the back half. "I've got food to get, myself." He's hungry. He was sleeping when Milani woke him up for all this mess!
Jeibeth looks up at B'tal and croons softly as he begins to ease the itch in her paw. << Yes. That's just right. Thank you. And I'm glad that you're not upset. It's a good time right now, isn't it? Everyone is ... mostly happy. >> Mostly, because she's shooting a draconic look of askance towards Isforaith again and then returning to /her/ weyrling. Persie's approach and the question lift the little green's head and she lets out a bright warble of welcome for the blonde. << You know this one. You have nice thoughts of her in your head. >>
Another chunk of meat and more oil for that gleaming bronze and W'chek works it in carefully. "I think that should be it," he tells Persie. A glance back at Zhikath. "Is that enough? Is it--" Little glance over towards Z'yi at that 'retard' bit, utterly uncomprehending, how could anyone say that in this moment of such perfect harmony? W'chek is not going to be calling Zhikath names anytime soon. Except his own: "We good, Zhikath?"
Zhikath certainly seems quite content, though he's drooping a little. Not /completely/ ready to sleep, but - energy, beginning to flag. His neck extends, as the oiling continues, almost cat-like in his appreciation.
Isforaith, unflustered, << And I picked you. >> Says something, don't it. He eyes Z'yi for a moment, then his paw. Apparently that job is not good enough, because while his rider works over his back half--there's a lot of it--he leans forward to just stick his whole hurt paw in the bucket. The contents overflows around it, mixes with oil and blood, but that's just par for the course by now. With a sigh, << Oh, yeah. That's better. >>
K'ndro winces for that screech of claws and chide from Leova both. "Shells, I'm sorry." Instant contrition, he'd meant to be gentle! But that nose was threatening to leave bruises, too. Listening to Leova, nodding his head even as his brows furrow into a squiggly quirk of concentration. Dutifully repeating everything he's told to repeat, and man is it -weird- having to consciously think about it at the same time! At least about the food. He's pausing over opening his mouth for inspection, but finally, and not without a disgruntled little glance, "Fine." And down his jaw drops, to be examined like a runner for sale at a Gather auction. Yay? At least he's got good teeth? And lingering klah-breath, maybe, from the Time Before Xadovith. The human of the pair is still more worried about the sinister-looking bronzes state of being, knowing that hide is going to need tending to.
Rasiyoth opens his maw, requesting the food. He'll take the first few chunks without swallowing, bad dragonet. But after the reminder, he begins to chew. Slowly. Savoring the meat. Then swallow. More. More.
B'tal glances up at Persie when he hears her voice directed toward them. Jeibeth's comment probably helps, too. "Oh! She's brilliant," he says, but then he looks at the green and asks, "Right?" More privately to her, he murmurs, "It's perfect. And that's Persie. She's nice to me." Which the young man appreciates so very much. His hands still rub and he asks, "Is your other okay?"
Ajatha lets out a little sound of denial at Rasiyoth, almost scolding, yet never entering that category fully. "Hey, none of that. Chew! No, you can't eat that fast. Slow down! You'll get choked or something, and you won't feel good. Then you won't want to sleep." Cause and effect. See, it's all logical. When he starts eating regularly with the chewing, Ajatha nods approvingly and reaches to rub a slick eyeright. "/Our/ family. You'll meet them soon enough. Come, eat. Slow!"
Z'yi oofs... sighs... and lays his forehead against one oiled section of Isforaith's hide. Oh yeah. That's totally going to break out. "You'regoingtobetheendofmyaren'tyou." It's exhaled all at once, before lifting his head, swiping his forehead ineffectually against one forearm. The back-end done, Isz turns about in such a way to lift his lifemate's paw out of oil bucket. "No. If you need any of that, you ask first." Rule #1. It's stated firmly, with all the qualities one would say to an overlarge overhyper puppy.
"I can get this out of the way then," Persie answers W'chek, taking up the mostly empty and perfectly sloppy bucket. Even though the smile is still plastered on her face, she's not quite skipping about any more. "If he does get hungry again, whenever, there'll be meat over there," she informs the weyrling, pointing toward the place. It's over there. Somewhere. Turning toward B'tal, she grins all the more. "She -is- brilliant. And beautiful." With a free hand, she gives Jeibeth a little twiddling finger wave. "Are you guys done with your meat bucket?" Since she's trying to clean up a bit.
A moment of eyes closed, blissful smile--is this W'chek we're talking about, here? Then he pulls himself back to the task at hand, rubbing the rest of the oil in. "Yes. Of course. Tomorrow," he reassures. "And always. Today it's just a matter of getting you taken care of. Then you can have a rest, and... tomorrow."
"Good on the slowing down," C'sel says after a moment as Ajatha gets the brown to slow his inhalation of meat. "You wouldn't want your tail to get thick," he says directly to Rasiyoth, testing out perhaps if he'll listen outside of Ajatah. "If your family is here, I do hope that you will get to see them," he offers quietly over to the weyrling herself. "Once he is settled you may go to the feast if you wish and are not too tired, yourself."
Xadovith does inspect, and drops his jaw so he can run his tongue around his own teeth... and then he's leaning forward as though he'd lick around /K'ndro's/ teeth, except Leova murmurs, "Easy, easy, no tongue. See? You have good teeth for raw meat. Humans don't." And then Meara's talking, and Leova's got that relief sinking into her shoulders, and she says afterward, "A little more if you want. And then, oiling. And then sleep." Xadovith? More interested in reassuring his rider, << She doesn't have good teeth either. I suppose I can let it go... this time. >> And then he arches up against his rider's hand: see, they're getting oiled, he can feel them relaxing as that itch goes away. So oil /him/, already.
If his paw moved better, Isforaith would probably be flicking oil off his claws at Z'yi. As is, he mostly just drips on him. << I can do it myself, >> he says stubbornly. And he shifts to stick the paw back in there, his weight rested more on it this time so he can't be pulled out. Even if it doesn't feel too great on his poor foot. He begins, << So this bed thing. >> Beat. << Oh. Oh, no. One more time. Hell's bells, make it stop! >> And his big blue butt gives a wiggle, wallowing in the blood and oil as he starts itching again.
Rasiyoth takes another chunk from the hand of /his/ Ajatha. << So hungry... >> He continues to tell her. But it sounds as if he's starting to trail off in his mental ramblings to her. He's not asking as many questions, his concern seeming to focus almost entirely on the food in front of him. Chew, chew, chew. Swallow. << More, please. I want them /all/ to visit us. >> This isn't new though, simply repetition of a previous desire. C'sel is given a look. An unhappy eye-tinged-bad-color look. The next piece of meat is chomped and swallowed, little chewing. << Me, me. Attention to /us/. Not him. I can eat myself. >>
Jeibeth waits patiently until B'tal is through with her first paw, then lifts the other and rests it in his lap as well, eyes still on Persie. << I am pleased about that. Please tell her so, B'tal? >> And then she lets out a little whuff. << All of my paws itch. And ... >> her wings rustle, gather, cluster, the fan closing tightly. << Just there, between my shoulders. Perhaps if you could wipe my muzzle, we may enjoy the oil in full now? Together? >>
And the first battle of wills commenses. Isz leans unsubtly against the shoulder attached to the leg attatched to the bum foot. Something's gotta give eventually, and Z'yi - at least for right now - has more muscle. Really. "If you take your damned foot out of the oil, maybe I could get the /paddle/ in there and put /oil/ on what's itching." Though some may laugh at Z'yi for even attempting to use logic on the blue.
Eugh! K'ndro might be in love with Xadovith, but dragon-kisses would just be like, waaaaaaay too gross to contemplate. His jaw snaps shut even before Leova's first 'easy' gets completed, a dubious eye slanted towards his lifemate even as a fondly amused smile plays about his lips. "Blood off m'hands, fine. Ye ain't lickin' m'face." A tilted-head check to see if Xadovith is wanting any more food, but then he'll be carelessly plunging both hands into a bucket of oil as soon as he can locate one and drag it over. Paddles? Rags? Who needs 'em! At least this first time, he wants to feel that warm hide beneath his fingers, scooping oil over the shadows and rubbing it in gently.
W'chek massages in the last of the oil, still all smiles. "And the day after. I'll be... near. If you need me, you can always call." Fingers linger there, after, wonderingly. Not just a dragon, this time. Not just someone else's dragon. A look around. "He's tired. Which--where does he sleep?" Looking over all these couches.
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Isforaith does not move, except for the rustle of his rusted-out wings together as they start itching, too. << There's other buckets, >> he points out. << This one is for my foot. I'm /crippled/. >> Nevermind it doesn't look like it's hindered him too much. << Scary Lady might get you another. Except she's scary. Nevermind. I'll just itch. >>
"She's pleased," B'tal translates for Jeibeth in his own way and adds, "She -is- beautiful." Of course she is. She's Jeibeth. She could probably look like a herdbeast and he'd think the same thing. A distracted smile is beamed at Persie. He starts on the same motions with her second paw as the first and says, "I'll get to everything." But he moves to get something to wipe Jeibeth's muzzle with so they can continue with the oil and foot rubs now that things have fallen into place and he's not making any faux pas unintentionally.
There may technically be better implements for oil-spreading, and they may even later on hang in their shared weyr (complete with white-painted outlines to mark exactly where they have to be put back) in the Turns to come, but could there be any question whatsoever that what Xadovith /prefers/ is the touch of K'ndro's bare hands on him? Xadovith doesn't even bother informing K'ndro that he's letting him get away with it /this/ time, no, he's already doing that thing where he tries to climb onto his rider for that much more attention, much as he'd done when he hatched. Leova? Has taken a chance to check on Ebeny, somewhere in there, and now drifts between the two pairs in an easy sort of way, grabbing a wet cloth for her hands at the same time B'tal does, so she can safely push back her hair. "Might see if your family's about, in a bit," the greenrider adds to them generally.
Zhikath will, in the meantime, be more than happy with the meat. Though he wiggles. Just once. Then again. Then he stills, probably requiring great concentration to do so, which does slow down further his consumption of that meat. Twitch. Just for a moment. Just-- his wings shift, fanning out slightly, then drawn back in to rest. Itching. So long as they do something /soon/.
"Less swallow, more chew," Ajatha rumbles at the brown and picks more meat to supply to him. "If they are, then I'm sure they'll linger about. We've family here, somewhere." Somewhere seeming to be the operative word. "Isziyo, having trouble still? Does.. he have a bucket stuck on his foot?" Seriously? Drawing her attention back to Rasiyoth, she leans in to wrap an arm around his neck for a soothing hug. "Here, eat. My attention's on you every minute."
"Wherever you want," Persie answer W'chek, poking her pointy chin toward those couches he's looking over so longingly. "Just pick one and get him over there if he's going down. They're hard to move once they fall asleep." Since Jeibeth does seem done, Persie takes up her meat bucket too, combining them and fitting them together as she gives the green and B'tal another enormous grin.
Nodding, C'sel takes an unassuming step back, as Rasiyoth's eyes tinge the way they do and Ajatha speaks aloud about attention, his focus sharpens though on this aspect of the pair though he mentions nothing about it at the moment. "Good. Do let me know if you need anything. There's couches, you're free to pick any one of them, as you tire," he says in a neutral tone, making of himself a quiet and fairly unobtrusive, but anchoring presence.
"I don't /care/ that you're /crippled/, you are /mine/ and will behave appropriately if I have to beat you over the head with a stick!" With an Ozark folk-art masterpiece, you know. That's Z'yi. Hollering at his dragon. Get used to it, it's probably going to happen. A lot.
Jeibeth nudges her nose into the cloth B'tal provides for her muzzle, happy to be cleaned up. Once he's through though, she stretches her neck out a little, regarding the couches and cots. << Let's go pick out our spot, then we can be comfortable while you oil me, don't you think? >> She suggests to B'tal with a little quirk of her head that isn't coy now, but may be as she gets older. There's a little flip of her tail on the end of that and she tilts her head towards Persie briefly, crooning her approval of the blonde. Then she's stretching up onto all four paws to make her way, in as stately a manner as possible towards the sleeping accomodations. Alas for someone's forgotten oil rag which becomes an impromptu sock and she looks down at it, then back up at B'tal, mournful.
Rasiyoth is chewing more now. At least he's starting doing so since C'sel has taken a step back. He doesn't seem too thrilled that the guy is still there though. His eyes occasionally whirling in his direction. << Mine is on /you/ every minute. >> Except for when it's on that strange blue. << He doesn't seem very smart, Jathi. Note that. >> More chewing. << Neither is his rider... he's loud. Probably not smart either. We can use the slow. Right? >> His appetite is slowing. << Maybe just a little more. >>
"You'll come first," W'chek says to his dragon agreeably, then casts a sideways glance at Isforaith and Z'yi. "If you--say so," quieter, but amused. Then he stands, gives a look around, picks out a couch right next to one of the hearths where it will stay especially warm, guides Zhikath in that direction. "Yes, a couch. Over here. Will this do? This can be our place."
Isforaith << Doesn't care that I'm crippled. Do you /hear/ the way he treats me? >> complains Isforaith, though with amusement lighting his words. He got yelled at. << Okay, okay, Hoss. Don't bust a brain... vessel... thing. >> There's probably a wittier way to put that, but the blue's finally getting a little tired around the edges, though he tries not to show it. Maybe that's why he gives in, extracts his paw from the oil bucket finally. << You're a lot of trouble, y'know. >> As though he can talk.
"Claws!" Is K'ndro's startled yelp as a lapful of Xadovith sends him wobbling backwards, laughing in his easy rumble. He's not really complaining, reaching oil-slick hands to gently rearrange pokey paws. "Yer gonna get t'big fer this, one day," which probably means he shouldn't be allowing it -now.- Still, regardless of practicality and oil and general mess, he takes a brief time out to loop his arms round that slender neck, tip his forehead to rest against darkling jaw. Then carefully, carefully, extracting himself to finish that oiling, hands slathering and petting, all due attention devoted. "Need t'pick ye a bed b'fore th'best ones're claimed," he murmurs.
Zhikath is easy enough to lead, taking careful steps after - and with - his rider towards that chosen couch. His head inclines into it, inspecting it carefully before, apparently, it passes muster, and he steps into it. Inside, he gives it another once over, turning around, and then settles back down into a seated position, his head resting upon his forelimbs.
"Don't call me Hoss, beetle-bug," Z'yi affectionately states. He slaps the blue on the haunch. "Up, y'lazy git. We're getting you to a bed. Now." He's already picked out one. Don't worry, it's next to B'tal's. Maybe the effortless grace of Jeibeth will rub off on Raith. (If only he was that lucky.)
<< Sure thing, Hoss. >> Telling him no just seems to encourage Isforaith, but he does get up to shuffle his way over to the couch beside Jeibeth. He hardly notices the green already there at first; it's more of an ordeal hauling his long body into the wallow, and he does it with a couple of grunts and scuffing. Good thing he's all oiled up already. And then he sprawls out gracelessly on the straw to take his bearings, notice Jeibeth, and freeze. << Er, >> he says to her, intelligently.
Xadovith gets murmured at, hugged, petted, happy. /Also/ yelled at, or at least yelped at. Bonus! From K'ndro's lap, his now-quiet, garlicky tenor mentions as an increasingly sleepy sort of shadow, << Need one where we can /see/. >> See exits, see the others, see it all. And right now? Right here is just right. Right where they are. Right.
"Ours," W'chek says, barely stifling a yawn of his own--or maybe not really his own. He settles down beside the couch, reaches out to rest a hand on his dragon's muzzle. His dragon. Going to have to get used to that someday. Not today, more than likely. "Sleep," he suggests. "I should be back by the time you wake up. I'm sure I will be. I just need to see... some people. To tell them about you."
That's Z'yi laughing in the background at that comment.
Hysterically.
"Now, Rasiyoth," Ajatha starts and lifts her eyebrows instead, the pale head tipping in amusement. "That's not nice to say. Though. Why in the world he put his foot in a bucket, I can't tell." C'sel's remembered presence brings in a remembered glance. Uh. "Iszy! Save us a couch!" Right. So, she eyes Rasiyoth. "I'll, uh, make note of that. What're you on about? Tired yet?"
B'tal glances at Leova when she mentions families but he doesn't respond, instead focusing with just a little more intensity on Jeibeth. He follows her toward the couches, a bucket of oil hefted with one hand. When she gets an old oil rag stuck to one of her paws, B'tal can't help but laugh at the girliness that keeps her from moving. "I'm sorry. Here," he says and helps her to remove it, even giving himself for her to lean against if she needs it. He glances briefly at Z'yi and the blue, letting Jeibeth get situated while he interests himself in putting the old rag where it should be before rejoining the green.
Zhikath huffs warm air up at W'chek, as that hand rests on his muzzle, his eyes slowing now that weariness is taking over, though they're still bright with joy, shaded increasingly often between at least one set of eyelids, if not all three.
"Here, here!" Z'yi hollers over his shoulder at Ajatha, pointing on the other side. Check it! Green, blue, brown. Now, if Mik can set up shop on the other side of Ajatha, they can have a rainbow. "Quit fussin' at the lady. She hasn't done anything to you. Sleep." He roughly tousels a hand over Raith's headknobs with a fondly irrascible grin, and straightens to stand, stretching out cramped, and suddenly tired, shoulders.
Rasiyoth insists, << Because he is. Don't be so /worried/. And shh... Not so loud. We can talk here. >> With their minds, together as one. << You should get some paper and write all of this down. >> He's no longer requiring food and he does /sound/ sleepy now. << Yes. I think so. I'd like to lay down, at least for a little while, love. >>
More laughing. Isforaith glares at Z'yi for that, says, very precisely, << I hate you. >> But he does settle down, with a last sheepish look at Jeibeth. And after that it doesn't take long, and he's out like a light, more or less just falling over on himself. He's probably going to hurt tomorrow, between that paw, his wings half-twisted under him, and tail flopping in the aisle over the side of his couch; but for now, there's no waking him up at all.