[Log] Skating Lessons

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Amilin, C'len, Linnea, L'sen, Satiet, S'reit
When: Unknown
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr; Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr
What: While several people skate at the lake, L'sen tries to teach Satiet how to skate as well.

Weyrling Barracks
     This is a large, high ceilinged cavern cut from the rock. There are rows of depressions on the floor, couches for the young dragons; the weyrlings sleep with their dragons. The floor is stone, which helps ease the inevitable task of cleaning up the muck left by the dragonets.
     The cavern has been decorated with old dragon tapestries hung on the walls, their colors slightly faded. A threadbare rug in the middle of the room bears the emblem of High Reaches Weyr, a mountain range in black on a dark blue field. A few low tables, chairs, and pillows have been scattered about the room, and baskets of glows placed strategically throughout the room keep the place well-lit. An opening in the southwest leads out into the Bowl.

Contents:
Deneth
Neiveth
Ozriadasoth
Tiqueth
Kirath
Chakieth
Candidate Cots
Firelizard Perch

Obvious exits:
Weyrling Training Room Bowl

C'len and Vildaeth emerge from the training room, the former carrying a dirty rag and mop/bucket combo while the latter carries, well, himself, pretty much. It seems, as usual, C'len's been stuck with cleaning duties. Vildaeth follows him as the rider deposits the items near one of the tables scattered about the barracks, then the pair make for a comfy chair where C'len sits, while Vildaeth hovers nearby, head ducking long enough to nudge his rider, briefly. The activity in the barracks seems fairly low-key, groups here and there going about duties, although maybe a bit restless what with the weather. All work, and no play, as they say...

"Okay, that's it!" L'sen says at last, thrusting aside the riding straps he's been working on. Neiveth rumbles brightly, nosing them aside further. "I'm not working any more on those stupid things. Let's go do... C'len! Hi! Are you done working, too?" He grins over at the bronze weyrling brightly.

At L'sen's question, C'len casts a look over toward his cot, where a pile of leather, thread, and needles sits in what could be termed, conservatively, a mess. "I finished cleaning," the weyrling says with a wrinkle of his nose, before his brown eyes find L'sen, "and should probably work on Vil's new straps." The bronze sits back, giving a smug croon, and his rider merely grimaces at him. "If he'd stop growing so quickly, I wouldn't have to do it," comes the gentle admonishment, as if the dragon has any control over it. Then there's a shrug, and a grin, "But maybe I'll work on them tomorrow instead. You done?"

L'sen smirks. "Satiet said I should tell everybody to be neat an' clean, but I think it's fine," he remarks with a shrug. "I think Neiveth's mostly done, but still. He puts them through a lot when he tries to do stuff, and I'm still not very good at this, so." He grins. "I'm done all right. Quittin' for the day."

C'len catches a quick look out toward the bowl, where it seems to be a bit windy, grass and other things whipping through the air, but otherwise nice, if cold. He pushes himself up from his place in the chair and makes his way to his press to collect some cold-weather items, notably a scarf (in orange) and a jacket. "Want to go find something to do?" It seems that he's, at least, ready to venture out into the cold. He grins suddenly, "Lake's frozen again, maybe we could go skating?" He pauses for a moment, then adds, hastily, "--not too great at it, only been once. But Vil likes the cold."

L'sen's eyes light up. "Skating! Oh, shards, yeah! I haven't done that in forever." He's already on his feet, tugging on his jacket and swinging his own bright blue scarf around his neck. "Hey, Neiveth--you've never been skating, have you? You'll love it, trust me," he tells the blue with a grin, starting for the door already.

Vildaeth's shifting back and forth, excitement showing in his movement and the twitching of his tail. "I'll go grab some skates then meet you at the lake, okay?" C'len says, and the pair duck out to the bowl, heading in the general dirction of the lower caverns and, ultimately, the stores.

"See you there," calls L'sen as he and Neiveth pile out the door as well.

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
     This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons often dive from high above the lake into its chilly waters, rinsing away the pungent smell of firestone. Their riders are frequently seen standing along the shoreline, watching on, the waters too brisk for casual swimming.
     Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. The water of the pond is frozen solid, an expanse of crystal glass that spreads from shore to shore. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
     The afternoon is clear and the sun shines brightly. There is a strong wind that pounds against the lake's frozen surface.

Contents:
Teonath
Satiet

Obvious exits:
LAke Pond Diving Cliff Bowl

C'len strolls over from the eastern side of the bowl.
C'len has arrived.

Vildaeth waddles over from the eastern side of the bowl.
Vildaeth has arrived.

L'sen is already at the lake with Neiveth, the pair seated on the snow-covered ground. "Yeah, he oughta be here soon," the bluerider is noting, glancing over his shoulder toward the lower caverns. "Just wait. You put these skate things on and then you go sliding around on the ice--it's really fun, you know? Don't worry, I'll show you first, kay?"

Nestled in the warmth of golden pale dragon limbs is a pink-clad figure, the fuzzy hat attached to her mantle hanging loosely over her forehead. Lounging for the most part, Satiet has no work near her, and seems to be preoccupied with watching a group of weyr children play snow fort.

C'len and Vildaeth trundle over, through the snow, wind whipping the ends of the rider's scarf about his neck though the gusts seem to be slowing. He carries with him four pair of skates, a pair each for himself and L'sen while the others seem to be extras. "Wasn't sure if anyone else might want some," he's saying as he makes his way to where L'sen's sitting. The dragon flumps down in the snow and rubs his belly back and forth, enjoying the cold and the feel of scratching that the white stuff provides. C'len just sighs, watching him and rolling his eyes, "How you like this so much," he says, spreading his arms wide to indicate the cold, "I have no idea. Looks like you were hatched at the right weyr, though." The skates are dropped into a pile, the rider holding back only the set that is for him.

From the human kids, to the dragon babies that aren't quite babies anymore go Satiet's eyes, flicking without any real movement to take in the approaching weyrlings and C'len with the skates. Cheered by their arrival, Teonath curls around, obscuring her rider's line of sight to warble a sweet trill of greeting towards the blue and bronze. "Teo," comes a somewhat familiar alto in exasperation, from behind the desert-hued neck, "Don't bother them." But it's too late as the gold uncurls, dislodging her rider, and trundles through the banks of snow towards Vildaeth and Neiveth.

"Hey again," L'sen greets C'len, heading over to dig through the skates until he emerges with a pair that'll fit his big feet. Neiveth watches with great interest, until Teonath and Satiet make their presence known. He rumbles brightly at the pair, and L'sen throws in a wave for good measure. "Hiya, Satiet. Are you going skating with us? I got your scarf on," he notes, tugging at one end with a grin.

C'len settles down onto a nearby rock after brushing some snow off it it, in an attempt to not completely freeze his bum. Off come the boots and on go the skates, laced carefully but probably not as well as a more frequent skater might do. Hearing Satiet and Teonath causes him to look up and spare a salute for the weyrwoman and a grin for her dragon, while Vildaeth, still flopped on the snow, gives a bright bugley greeting for his dam. "We're skating," C'len says, in case it's not already clear. "Feel free to join us."

Teonath settles her bottom into a bank, tail disappearing underneath the cover of snow, and studies both Vildaeth and Neiveth with dark, ochre-rimmed eyes. Delighted with what she sees in their growth, another congenial croon escapes, the gentle sails of wings rustling backwards in contentment. Of course, Teonath's movement's left Satiet stuck in the snow to pick herself off and dust the powdery remnants off her clothing. In her hand is a corked flask, and the flush on her cheeks can't be entirely from the chill - though the infrequent winds are fairly biting. "I... no, thank you. Thanks though." Smiling thinly, she gestures for them to go on and have fun, as she attempts to find a place to prop herself against again. "Forgetting something, wingleader? Or do you enjoy laps that much?"

L'sen knits his brows at Satiet. "You don't want to go skating with us? Why?" he queries, her latter words not sinking in. He frowns at her a moment, then ohs! "Oh, right! Salute. I forgot," he remarks, doing so quickly. He's already putting on the skates carefully, hanging on to Neiveth as he gets to his feet. "You coming?" he asks C'len, as he wobbles toward the lake, still clinging to Neiveth's side.

As Vildaeth is too busy playing in the snow, C'len has no help in getting up, and does so with little grace. Not that usually has grace, anyway. "You sure? It's, uh, fun," he says, not quite convincingly, but he has to get used to this cold weather stuff eventually. He walks very deliberately, picking his feet up slowly and placing them carefully on his way to the lake, then suddenly he's on the ice and before he's moved a fraction of an inch he's sprawled on his read, legs splayed in front of him. Vildaeth looks up from his white entertainment and croons, both concern and encouragement mixed together in his tone.

"I can," Satiet begins superciliously, the haughty little lift of her chin at odds with the snow that's still splattered all over her bottom, "Think of at least ten things I'd rather do than fall on my bottom from skating." Meaning, she doesn't know how and isn't about to risk looking stupid. The encouragement, a little insidious croon from behind is flatly ignored, leaving Teonath amused. After settling herself in, and giving her rider the brief sense of security in a stable perch, the gold tosses all that work away by stretching forward again and making a delicate path towards Vildaeth. Tromp, traipse, settle. Howdy. It's not her fault her gently swinging tail brings with it a mound of snow.

In the sky directly above, Elindath banks and lands neatly at the lake shore.
Elindath has arrived.

L'sen eyes Satiet as he steps gingerly onto the ice, legs splayed to keep his balance. "We'll help you," he volunteers. "Bet between the two of us we can hold you up. Have you ever skated before? I have, but not in a while. Used to do it sometimes back at the hold--High Reaches Hold, that is," he explains, as he strikes across the ice a few feet, only wobbling a bit. Neiveth edges to the brink of the ice, eyeing it speculatively.

C'len, from his position on the ice, manages to get up somehow, though he's still wobbly. "We could probably hold you up," C'len predicts, going along with L'sen's encouragement and giving a grin. He pushes off and goes across the ice quite slowly for a few feet, then stops, without even falling this time. Vildaeth twists his head, pointed snout aiming in his dam's direction and he croons a bright greeting, all hapiness with the cold and the snow despite his rider's discomfort. C'len reaches up to adjust his scarf of orange, twisting it more carefully about his neck as it grows colder. "Besides, how can you live here and not skate?" He echoes back words thrown at him, as a candidate.

Displeasure heightens the sharpness of Satiet's features, especially the cold depths of her eyes, shadowed gaze following Teonath to her final destination of Vildaeth. The svelte dragon scoots that mound of snow closer to her body, heedless of the fact that such an action is more conducive to melting than anything, and nudges it wholly to the bronze. The high reach of her warble calls out to Neiveth, delight in winter and snow dominant in her inflection. "I... you don't _have_ to know how to skate if you live here. I've gone four turns, and not knowing how to skate hasn't prevented me from fulfilling my duties to Weyr or dragon." Aware that she may be sounding unreasonably stubborn, the dark-haired girl's grip on her flask tightens. "You two'd just let go anyway," she murmurs uneasily, "Just to see me fall flat on my bum."

Elindath's approach to the lake is slow, circuitous, and suspicious. After skimming 'round the lake's circumference several times, she selects a bank of snow likely to spray the greatest number of people, and skids to a gradual stop, kicking up a slide display and snowing down heavily on a few of those gathered near one fringe of the lake. "You're hopeless." Linnea slips down from her mount, wiping off backwashed snow, the skates held over her shoulders clattering as she arrives. "Who's going to fall?" she asks, nosily, not recognizing Satiet from the distance.

Linnea hops down Elindath's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely.
Linnea has arrived.

"We can teach you!" L'sen volunteers quickly. "You oughta know I'd never let you get hurt, anyway. I mean, really. We're not like that. We're nice guys, really. Besides, it doesn't hurt at all." Meanwhile, Neiveth steps very carefully onto the edge of the ice, rumbling as he tests it with his weight. L'sen calls, "Hi, Linnea!" He waves at his mentor brightly.

Amilin strolls over from the eastern side of the bowl.
Amilin has arrived.

For now, Vildaeth's content to enjoy the snow rather than test out the ice on the lake, his pale-tipped tail swishing back and forth through the white stuff like a windshield wiper during a storm. He dips his nose down and snuffles the proffered pile of snow, warbling his the delight with the white stuff and snorting in its direction such that a bit of it goes flying toward whoever's near. On the ice, C'len remains mostly non-moving, for now, finding that to be the safest course as he doesn't seem to be too good at skating. "She won't fall.. much," C'len says, gesturing to Satiet as an answer to Linnea's question. "Join us?" He asks the greenrider. "Maybe you can give us some, uh, tips."

"Falling hurts." There's no doubt about it, and Satiet regards L'sen with a look of complete disbelief. "You realize besides the two of you being 'nice guys,'" the girl mimics the bluerider's tone, "If you deliberately let me fall, I'll make your life miserable." Ever calm, unruffled by the coldness of her lifemate's words, Teonath pulls herself away from playing with Vildaeth, swiveling that long serpentine neck to regard the girl she calls hers, and Satiet, all too aware of the eyes of her dragon, turns just that fraction away to dismiss her, but it's enough, that silent warning, and with reluctance shouldered on her slight frame, she makes a move for one of C'len's spare skate pairs. "No one's going to fall," is spared for Linnea, along with a flat look that recognizes but somehow isn't wholeheartedly delighted to see her dubious friend.

Linnea leans against her mischievous green mount, tugging off her regular boots and tugging on the set of skates. The laces are pulled taut, Li testing their firmness by waggling her ankle back and forth to ascertain a range of motion. "C'len, L'sen, good evening." Steps closer bring Satiet into view, and Li's brows furrow across her broad forehead. "Satiet? You mean you haven't skated before?" Blase, Li's note that she's not warmly regarded stings, though her recovery is swift. "Even Elindath's been out on the ice. Well, a few paces. I'm not so sure I have any useful tips, but I'd be happy to skate with you. Hope it doesn't crack today, C'len."

Dragon> Teonath, Elindath, and Neiveth sense that Vildaeth's excitement threatens to almost bubble over, like a stew pot left on the heat too long, but he dampens it, slightly. It still simmers beneath the surface, warm enough almost to melt the snow he plays in.

Amilin pauses were the path meets the beach and gives a dry chuckle, "I thought making their lives miserable was more my job really, Satiet." She wraps her scarf more tightly around her neck, and returns her hands to her pockets. Then the belated greeting, now that her presence is known, "Good evening, all."

L'sen shrugs. "Not that bad," he tells Satiet. "I mean, it's not so bad at all, really. "And sure you will. C'mon, just get out here," he urges the woman. Grinning, he slip-slide-skates over to the edge again, stopping clumsily and offers her a hand for when she's got the skates on. Glancing again to Linnea, he grins, and Neiveth croons, edging further onto the ice and nudging it with his nose curiously. "It's just ice, you know? Water, but solid," explains L'sen.

"Teonath's been on the ice," Satiet explains, as if that should be enough, and Amilin's arrival and subsequent commentary is met with a twitch of her lips and a concession. "That too. I doubt there's anything I could do now, at any rate, to make their lives worse than it is in the confines of those barracks. Come to enjoy the weather?" A fact which seems to placate her -- that they're weyrlings and she's not. The flask in her hand gets pocketed in one of the inner folds of her rose-dusted mantle, and she shifts towards Linnea. "You have my shawl." No accusation, merely a comment to fill in whatever silence, and attempt some semblance of congeniality as she sprawls and tugs the too large pair of skates on, and once they're on finds L'sen's hand near her head. "You promise not to let go?" There's a real note of concern there.

Linnea startles, straightening her posture and assuming a far more dour expression than should sit on a face so young, perhaps in response to the authority figure whose arrived. "Evening," she returns, finishing at last with her skates. Elindath stretches out her neck, resting it on the snow, seemingly undisturbed by water in its frozen state. "You don't have your own weyrs yet?" A long-faced frown. "Oh, right. Not until after graduation." Smothering her smugness, she heads for the ice, pausing at Satiet's words. "I do?" A long moment of thought. "Oh, I do." She visibly withers. "Sorry. I'll, er, get that back to you."

L'sen beams at Satiet. "Course I won't let go," he tells her, nodding and keeping his hand offered to her. "If you fall, it'll be 'cause I'm falling, too." Because /that's/ reassuring. "Don't worry so much. Just loosen up and live a little." Glancing over at Linnea, he wrinkles his nose. "Nah, not yet. But hey, not too much longer, right? And then we'll be free and we can do what we want and stuff like that. In our own weyrs."

Amilin's grin slants crooked a moment, then smooths a way to an easy smile, "Something like that. I'm rather escaping the confines of the hide work this lot has given me." She inclines her head towards the pair of werylings, watching them rather pointedly a moment, but adds instead, "A walk seemed in order, and Das is asleep, so it's here of I want fresh air." Grinning Linnea's way she replies, "Could you just image the trouble they'd get to in their own weyrs? But no matter. Even in the barracks, they have far more room than my class had. There were forty of us, you know." L'ian she watches now, quite steadily, though her tone stays casual, "Not until you graduate."

The blonde-haired weyrling waves Linnea over, before he somehow manages to sorta-skate-sorta-walk his way over to where Satiet and L'sen stand. He offers his hand as well, though he's much worse at skating than the bluerider. Vildaeth, given a dragon's attention span, begins wriggling a bit in the snow before standing up and deciding that he, too, will inspect the ice. "Maybe Elindath should join us as well," C'len calls out, a hint of teasing in his voice.

One brow creeps upward steadily, Linnea regarding L'sen in a thin-lipped manner. "In your own weyrs. Not in public areas under blankets, during weyrlinghood." Her voice adopts that too-sugary manner, then returns to a lighter, more fun sound. "Good for you to get the chance. They must be less trouble than we if you get a rest at all." Bragging? Possibly. "I don't want to think about it too much," she assures, stepping onto the ice, digging her toes in for traction. "I'm not sure she's -that- brave, my Elindath," she laughs.

Teonath continues to pack snow together into little mounds, her own attempt at building a hold large enough to mask her brilliant form. Satisfied with the grip offered her, Satiet hoists herself up with L'sen's help, stumbling as she attempts to acclimatize herself to the unsteady wobbling of skate edges. Reflexively, that hand tightens, the other one flails, seeking the stability of the blue weyrling's shoulder. "Someone could get hurt on these things," she murmurs, embarrassed and reluctant still to actually pitch herself onto the ice and have a go. Since Linnea's doing such a good job at being mentor-like, the blue weyrling's words go unremarked by the junior goldrider, though faint surprise dawns in pale eyes for the greenrider's initiative. "Well, the barracks still get too cozy with full-sized dragons, even with only our sixteen."

In the sky directly above, Malicith wings down and lands lightly at the lake shore.
Malicith has arrived.

S'reit has arrived.

"Then again," Satiet muses further, attempting to pull back enough not to look like she actually _needs_ L'sen's help, "We had Rinley and her incredible, uncontrollable bladder." She can't help the snideness in that.

"I know--don't that suck?" L'sen tells Amilin distractedly, grinning at her. And to Linnea, he adds, "Exactly!" He beams at the pair, then glances to C'len and Satiet. "See? We got you," he tells the goldrider. "Oh, just suck it up and come on!" He grins at her anyway, despite his apparent exasperation. But, her words do pique his curiousity. "Rinley? Who's Rinley? And what's wrong with her bladder?"

"I hadn't thought them that bad. If you weren't comfortable with twice the space we had, I suppose you grew up far more privileged than most." Ami simply drops that observation with a smile, and then turns to L'sen, "Might be something you'd like to consider once in a while, that we're in this with you." She casts a wink, then adds just as smoothly, "Or perhaps not. Five laps for both you and C'len however, when your done with your fun this evening. By the way."

Linnea eases farther out onto the ice, taking a moment to steady herself before increasing her speed. Her arms reach out from her side, hesitant though not quite as nervous. "They certainly did -feel- crowded." Elindath gets a sharp look over her shoulder, Li scrabbling for a moment to catch her balance after. "You be nice," she warns. "Rinley's one of our clutchmates. Though I thought she stopped wetting after she Impressed. She must've blamed it on her dragon." She starts to add, "Oh, no, Satiet's parents share a --" but a quick glance the goldrider's way, and Li hushes that thought.

The narrow azure ribbon of Malicith tumbles to the shore from the sky, his rider slipping to land from down-curved neck a moment later. Though the dragon seems disinterested in the ice, his rider carries skates held by buckle-straps over shoulder, and pauses beside the beast's haunch to consider the lake, gathering bearings. Something there inspires a smug sneer to blossom across his thin mouth.

It's difficult to give someone a piece of your mind when they're the only reason you might be standing on two feet. Satiet, for her part, recognizes this and only glowers at L'sen. "I sho..." The edict of laps is laid, and the slight girl's threat trails off. "Good luck with that," she murmurs, just barely managing not to crow. "Suck -that- up." So she fails at not crowing. "Let's go." With all the confidence imbued of just sheer arrogance, she tries to storm and instead wobbles a very tenuous path towards the lake. Malicith's arrival, Linnea's faux pas, all ignored, though the latter belatedly penetrates past her concentrated steps, causing wide eyes to fly up towards the greenrider.

C'len grows a bit more adventurous, with the boldness of his dragon to urge him on, and finds himself making unsteady lines across the ice further away from the lake shore. Cinnamon-hued wings spread briefly for balance as Vildaeth, too, moves onto the frozen lake, near where Satiet hangs on to L'sen for assistance. Heedless of those in its path, the tail lashes behind him as he makes for his new adventures. The blue's arrival briefly draws C'len's attention, long enough that he flounders and ends up once again on his bum. He's nothing if not persistent, though, dragging himself up: third time's a charm, right?

L'sen peers at Amilin, brows knitting. "Er, okay," he tells her mildly. "What for? And hey--what do her parents share? What do your parents share?" His gaze shifts from Amilin to Linnea, then to Satiet as he peers at each in turn. "And the barracks? It's okay, I guess. I don't care. I can sleep anywhere. It's just, well." A shrug. "So... this girl was old enough to be a candidate, and then a weyrling, but she still... Ew." He wrinkles his nose in disgust. To Satiet, he shrugs. "Hey, not the first ones, and not the last ones," he tells her philosophically. He keeps close to her as she picks her way to the lake, his own movements more sure.

Linnea, out farther on the ice than the others, turns a slow circle to watch their progress, not altogether delighted at the weyrling punishement, though she perhaps wisely keeps quiet on that front, too, lest it be extended. That is, for a moment. Then she dares, "That isn't very nice. If they can't complain about something harmless without reprise, they might get more daring in their misbehavior." Carefully, she makes eye contact with Satiet, her expression softening. She mouths, 'I wouldn't say,' uncertain if it's clear. Elindath, meanwhile, croons a teasing greeting to Malicith. "She's still a nice person," Li frowns to L'sen. "We -all- have our faults."

"Failure to salute." And at five laps, that's getting off easy these days. Ami gives a light shrug then, "Every class is a mixed bag. Some excel in one area, others in another. Our current Weyrwoman had to overcome a fear of heights as a weyrling."

"Her parents share a goldrider for a daughter." S'reit's contribution precedes his stoop to unlace boots, one hip lodged against his blue's leg to steady himself while transfering feet from current footwear to skates. His place in the conversation established in his own world at least, he tightens buckles and tosses the boots aside for his dragon to stand guard over. "Evening," he offers Amilin with a tip of his head, eyes a bit narrow, before venturing onto the ice.

Satiet grimaces at the mention of heights, sparing the frolicking young queen a look that slides up the length of high placed haunches and the sinuous curve that glistens, moon-reflected, between the rising mounds of snow. "Nice and smelly are two different things, Lin," the hood of her mantle falls with the toss of her dark hair. She saw the mouthed words, and for a second looks grateful for them, and S'reit's timely interruption, though there may be no appreciation there for the sour bluerider himself. "Rinley hasn't done it in a while, last I heard at least. I heard U'met was seen with her after his flight a while back. Might be just rumor, blasted Jemah." Unwilling to let go of L'sen, the goldrider clings fast when she takes her first, slippery step onto the ice, testing it first with an easy motion forward and back.

It's unclear whether C'len's even heard his punishment, so far from the shore is he, but movements that have grown a bit easier start to bring him back, not wanting to venture too far from the safety of the lake's edge and his dragon. He does salute S'reit upon getting closer to the shore, though it may go unseen. "Jemah," the name is muttered darkly under his breath, shaking his head. Meanwhile, Vil's finding the ice a big ball of slippery fun, dark talons clicking across its top as he slip-slides from the snow to the lake and along the edges, crooning cheerily all the while.

Linnea bites her lip, cutting off any further protest. Instead, she swivels in sharp arcs, her skate cutting into the ice and kicking up a small spray. Elindath's croon takes on a hint of amusement at her rider's echo of their landing activity, then Li shrugs. "Still. If all they hear is the bad, they might not want to be her friend. And she's a good friend. I don't know about U'met--he was with my brother for turns, off and on, so I'd be surprised if he found a girl to --share a blanket with." A meaningful glance to L'sen, then she too frowns. "Yeah, Jemah." Just as dark.

"Whoops," L'sen replies, grimacing. "I always forget that part." He shrugs, though, and glances to S'reit. "Re--oh. Heh," he snickers at the other bluerider's joke, grinning. Turning to Linnea, he knits his brows and squints, trying to make out her mouthing. "Er. I guess so?" he notes to her. Then, picking up on Amilin's latter words, he glances around at Satiet in surprise. "Really? You were scared of heights? Shards! That's not good, I guess, if you're gonna have to, you know, ride a dragon." He shrugs, grinning as she clings to him. "See? This isn't so bad," he notes as he slides a step out onto the ice. To Linnea, he notes distractedly, "Sharing blankets? Huh? Oooh." He grins, too broadly, and nods knowledgeably.

Amilin tips her head to S'reit in return, returning like for like except she merely arches a brow at his own expression, "G'eve." She skips pursuing the matter of what Satiet parents might share, "Ahh, well. Anything Jemah says should be taken with a grain of salt."

"I rather like Jemah," S'reit practically chirps, cruelty in the crooked curve of his satisfied smirk. A wink for Amilin, apparently pleased at her offput eyebrow - then he puts one skate behind the other and nudges away from shore, describing an easy path past a few inconsistencies in the ice where it froze around water-plants earlier in the long cold season. "She keeps us on our toes. And I do believe we need it." He switches lead feet and moves farther out onto the ice with effortless efficiency of motion, if no particular style or grace.

Satiet shrugs, volunteering none of her usual catty quip in response to Linnea, acknowledging, perhaps with her silence, that what the greenrider says has merits. "No, Josilina," she corrects L'sen, at least to what Amilin meant, though her eyes shift away in avoidance to place her second foot tentatively on the ice as well. "A grain and a basket of salt in many cases, she's not all wrong though. Are you joining us, weyrlingmaster, or do you plan to watch from the shore, and make sure this one of yours," L'sen, "Doesn't drop me like a bad habit in the middle of the lake. Oh, you just like her because she's more to your speed, S'reit." Since L'sen hasn't let go yet, and her bottom hasn't become best friends with the ice, better humor finds the goldrider's voice, teasing in the cool alto.

Linnea stops skidding brutal circles into the lake, instead making slow zigzags farther out on the frozen surface. "You like her?" S'reit's regarded like the nutso he might very well be, her jacket pulled tighter around herself almost defensively. Satiet's given an almost warm smile for her success, perhaps, or her ceasing of Rinley-abuse.

Dragon and rider come together as Vildaeth clicks across the ice to where C'len is, the rider stopping himself against the pearly-ridged bronze's head. Vil's tail has made a slithery path behind him, and his rider takes the change to catch his breath and balance on the ice. "No suprise there," he says softly, as he catches S'reit's remark. Brown eyes alternately follow the movements of the blue rider--who skates well--and the greenrider who is on the ice, perhaps trying to learn something from them.

L'sen nods sagely. "Ooh," he notes. "Huh. I never would've thought that about her. I could believe it about you, though," he remarks with a shrug. "And don't worry. You're doing great, see? Want me to let go so you can try it on your own?" Though, for the moment, he continues keeping a hand on her for security. "Jemah's okay to me," he notes after a moment. "I mean, I like her, I guess. She don't talk about me." Pause. "That I know of, anyway." He shrugs, grinning.

S'reit's wink her way, just causes Ami's eyebrow to lift farther, then her attention turns back to the others. "Josilina, yes." She confirms, her tone growing teasing, "Last I knew, at least, she was still Senor." She nods Satiet's way, "A grain and a basket, but yes. There is often truth in what she will say as well. You never know which it might be, so better to never believe it all." - "I'll watch, thanks. I never developed a taste for the ice. My eldest is quite good though." Her gaze settling on L'sen, she smiles, "Yet. It's always better to say, 'She doesn't talk about me, yet.' Tomorrow is always another day."

S'reit, untroubled, describes a sinuous swirl with blades on ice, tipping a toe up behind the lead foot to slow himself as his path arches back toward shore, then out again. "I won't ask, in mixed company," he murmurs, gliding past L'sen and Satiet at a distance of a meter and a half or so, "How you've tested my speed. - Oh, she doesn't trouble me. Half of what she says we should listen to, and the other half keeps us sharp upstairs - or should." He taps his temple with one finger, flicking a one-note nod to Linnea before granting L'sen an encouraging grin, then fits his hands back behind his back and increases speed toward the middle of the lake.

"No," Satiet lowers her voice to L'sen, fierce in the directive. "Don't let go yet." It wouldn't do, of course, to fall flat on her bum with S'reit watching or worse yet, skating circles around her prone form, and pride straightens her spine as she feigns to know what she's doing. "But if you think I'm holding you back, weyrling," coolly low and distant, the careless suggestion isn't backed at all by the unvoiced pleading of her eyes. "Wasn't there some talk," the alto rises, hoping to catch Linnea in its calling out, "Of you and some candidate a while back?"

Linnea circles 'round wide, bringing herself to the long side of Satiet, just close enough that she could be called over to help, you know, if such a thing were ever needed by the goldrider in question. "I don't remember her ever being afraid of heights. She took to flying pretty easily. Though we were all nervous. So it must've been Josilina. Or else Satiet didn't tell us about it and hid it really well." Thoughtful, she folds her arms, skating with fingers clenched. "It was all false. I never did anything untoward with a weyrling." L'sen's given a sharp stare, then so is C'len, pesky boys.

"There was talk too," one of those pesky boys says, loud enough to carry to the shore, "of there being--well, a bundle of joy for some queen's rider, or so I heard." C'len shoulder's shrug upward as he maneuvers himself off to Vildaeth's side, the bronze trying vainly to spin around on the ice but failing due to a lack of coordination and his size. "But who believes what Jemah says?" The last comment is airy, bright, as the orange-scarved weyrling skates, almost cleanly, back to the shore and deposits himself on a rock near the edge so that he can rest his feet.

L'sen grins at Satiet. "Well, okay. But let's pick up the pace a little, 'kay?" Without waiting for her permission, he skates a little faster, further from shore, and pulls Satiet happily along with him. "See? Isn't this fun? And nope, not Linnea," he notes, glancing sideways at his mentor. "She wouldn't do nothin' with us. Remember that time out here a while back? And Savaughna an' me 'n' Te'an were cuddling with that blanket? Yeah. She wouldn't get in on it with any of us, /and/ we had another blanket." He chatters blithely as he skates, snickering at C'len.

Amilin chuckles, "I've had a hand in training everyone that Impressed here after I did. Believe me, I know which goldrider I mean." She asserts once again, with an air of finality Linnea's way, "Josilina." She lifts her voice, calling to C'len, "Some do. You'd be surprised..." Oddly enough, talk of cuddling under blankets earns no comment from this weyrlingmaster.

For some reason, S'reit laughs lowly, smugly, and skates on. "Anyone with sense believes what Jemah says - sometimes," he observes. "It's knowing when is 'sometimes' and when's other times that counts." And he tips his head sideways toward the expert on shore as his skated path leaves a pair of long, twined and slender lines behind him, curving from midlake back toward the weyrlingmaster and his dragon. He's closed a wide, misshapen oval around the goldrider and her tugboat-on-blades.

"Must've been about Matheny. Or Josilina." Satiet's retort is cut off by a squeak of surprise. A literal 'squeak', eyes slamming shut briefly as if the fast approaching, but still very very distant, wall of the Weyr might be banged into before that tugboat turns away. It's a good thing to, lest she remember, or actually hear about that time of catching weyrlings bundled together beneath blankets. When her eyes do open again, it's to watch with trepidation, the scenery that flies by and find her voice. "Cause, by the shell, it sure isn't me. Pregnancy's overrated. Kids too."

Linnea nods, her voice gaining mischievous energy, "Oooh, I heard that one, too. Wondered if--" her voice breaks as she recalls Satiet is present, and she increases the distance between herself and L'sen-Satiet skating duo. "Well, just so's that's all in order, then. Wouldn't want anyone to be confused about that." Elindath, from shore, snorts derisively. "Does she ever tell any grains of truth? It's so hard to tell." Linnea laughs outright, "They sure are."

"Kids are nice," remarks L'sen mildly. "Pregnancy, though--that's gotta suck for y'all." He takes one hand off Satiet to wave it airily. "But hey, guess you gotta have one to get the other." Deep. Grinning, he cocks his head slightly. "How you doing?" he asks Satiet curiously.

Having had enough skating for one evening, probably even for a much longer period of time, C'len seeks out his boots and begins the process of unlacing the skates. He wiggles his toes now that they're free, then seems to wait on replacing his boots. "Then one of them was seen with the guy from Ista?" C'len's all innocent confusion about the queen riders, momentarily, though as Satiet-L'sen whiz away his remark may be lost in the wind. Out on the ice, Vildaeth has given up on trying to spin and instead flopped onto the ice, letting the cold soak into his belly like it needs to be stored up for the warmer months that will eventually come.

"The Weyrleader from Ista," S'reit helps as he tips up one toe, then the other, to slow his glide before stepping onto shore and mincing back to his boots. Malicith, who has not been the most attentive of guardians, still looms in his slender blueness over the footwear, but makes no apparent notice of his rider as the man comes near. "And she does. It's a matter of sorting through the chaff for them. It takes patience," the bluerider informs Elindath in lieu of speaking to Linnea, as if the two might be interchangeable.

"She tells some truths." So speaks the voice of experience once more. Ami shrugs, burrowing deeper into her jack since she stands while they mostly skate, "Pregnancy is worth it, when you want it. I'm sure a woman that doesn't wish it for herself would say otherwise."

Satiet, too, seems to have had her fill for the evening, the blanched paleness of her cheeks greeting blue weyrling's question. "I'd rather run laps." The nearer they get to the snow-shrouded shoreline, the more insistent the tug on L'sen's hand is, so she can release herself to flail backwards and then skid feet first into a bank of snow. Wiping whatever snow that managed to fly that high off her face in disgust, it takes her a moment to turn to S'reit and then C'len, eyes narrowed petulantly, "Then it must be me, but if I look pregnant to you, weyrling, you better have another think coming." The fall clearly has done nothing for her high spirits, nor does the wince that hits belatedly bode well for the slight girl's physical state of health staying good.

"You don't," C'len says with another shrug as he pulls his boots on, the skates tied together so that they can be returned to the storage caverns and used by some other hapless skater at a later date. "I don't generally believe her anyway." He cringes slightly as the weyrwoman goes sprawling, offering a hand in her direction should she need it to stand. Without skates, he won't turn into a tugboat on her, at least.

Linnea frowns, a long, drawn out facial expression that just might freeze that way if she doesn't change it sometime, and S'reit's words make it even more exaggerated, Elindath flicking her tail just the slightest bit in response to the bluerider's words. Or in flirtation with the ice blue. Li tries to smother it, but fails to quell the laugh that claims her face and causes her upper body to shake as Satiet falls. Fortunately for her, the laugh is silent, allowing some innocence as she heads forthwith to shore, enough skating for her also.

"Hey!" protests L'sen as Satiet pulls away and promptly falls. "That wasn't my fault, so you better not be blaming me for it. Are you okay?" He offers a hand to help her back her. "You don't /look/ pregnant, I guess," he adds helpfully. "Are you really? And hey, I heard that about that guy from Ista, too. Or Igen? Or--where was it again? All the 'I' Weyrs are confusing." He wrinkles his nose mildly. "And hey, is /everybody/ quittin' skating now?

Satiet swats C'len's hand away, and then thinks better of it, using the offering to help herself up, with another wince that puckers her already too-sharp features. "Thanks," she replies, calm. If she pretends it didn't happen, it might be forgotten, of course. Fat chance. But the second she's on her feet, the hand is released and she's making her very slow, somewhat lopsided path back to her weyr, the stiff set of her shoulders hoping to stave off any other attempts at assistance. Pride damaged, and probably a nice bruise to her tailbone to match, it's been a rough evening for the girl who retreats, pale queen not in tow. Teonath, like Linnea, seems to be enveloped with the shakes of silent laughter.

Satiet wanders away from the lake shore, back to the main bowl.
Satiet has left.

S'reit puts his backside to the blue's narrow haunch to steady himself while again trading one footwear for the other sort. "I only came down for a short visit," the bluerider remarks, something about his eyes glittery and pale at Satiet's sprawl and subsequent uprighting. He turns his head sideways, one boot still unlaced, to gather in Linnea's glee while Malicith tips his lengthy maw up and sideways to grant Elindath a privileged view of his long jawline.

Linnea, crossing the edge to the shore, keeps her face sheilded so she's not guilty of mockery or of betrayal. Elindath snaps her jaws, perhaps that's murky green dragon for admiration of that jawline, perhaps it's a threat, and Linnea's resolutely silent, not liking the flirtatious relationship with the malicious blue one bit. She circles wide, then leans heavily on Elindath, kicking snow off of her skates. "That looks like it hurt," she comments, well after Satiet's out of sight.

For all it may be amusing, somewhat, C'len is a master of klutz and falls, so he doesn't laugh at the weyrwoman's situation, only helps her up then watches, brows raised, as she departs. Vildaeth click-clacks back to shore, though his body remains on the ice of the lake as he rests his head on the shore's snow. Two cold things, double the enjoyment? --his rider, though, shakes his head as he watches the dragon. "I could use something warm to drink," he remarks, tugging his jacket a little closer.

L'sen glances over at Linnea, his grin turning into a laugh of his own--not silent like the others'--as Satiet departs. "Shards, that was pretty bad. Dunno what she was thinking. I mean, you don't want to fall, you don't go jerking away from the only thing that's holding you up, right? But hey, it /was/ kinda funny." Still grinning, he glances over at C'len and nods, plopping down in the snow. "Yeah, think I'm about to go find something," he remarks, trading skates for shoes.

The blue tips his head down, moving his neck slowly enough that the muscles there twitch beneath his silken hide. "Mulled wine if your 'master allows it," S'reit suggests, lacing the other boot before straightening, then dumping his chilled skates into the little strap-bag at Malicith's haunch. The blue takes no notice of his rider's actions, one midnight eye swirling a reflection of the dark-winged green. "Else, klah, I suppose. I think it's back up home for me."

Linnea also nods, working on trading out her skates for her regular shoes, though her fingers are cold enough that the lacing takes some effort through the fumbling. Elindath stretches out one shapely, long and dark wing, showing off? Could be. The bemused, captivated expression in Elindath's slowly whirling eyes suggests that taunting Malicith might be one of her favorite pasttimes. "Quit it. You're making me sick." Li gives him a nudge, then waves to the weyrlings. "It's been good to see you both, and you seem to be doing well. Sorry about the laps; I used to hate having to run them with anyone who made a mistake, but now I can at least run more easily. Maybe I'll join you in the laps sometime. But not now. Now, warm milk sounds good, or weak klah." A nod to the graduated surly bluerider, as that might be a worthy idea.

Another shrug from C'len, and a wrinkle of his nose, though whether he's not fond of the wine or klah is unclear. Nearby, Vildaeth is watching the other dragons, crouching low enough that his belly's still close to the cold but up high enough that he can move forward, almost like he's stalking something. Then suddenly he's near the green and the blue, settled on his haunches and bugling a loud greeting, tail lashing behind him. C'len watches the whole episode with amusement, snickering softly until he can school his expression into something more serious.

Standing, L'sen wobbles briefly until he adjusts to not wearing skates again. Then, he sets off quickly for the living cavern. "I'm starving, too!" he calls back to them. "See y'all later!" When his rider is gone, Neiveth drags himself off the ice as well, rumbling a good-bye and peeling off toward the barracks.

Malicith dares a low, rumbling croon as his neck dips low - the gesture allows his rider to climb up, something he uses as excuse for the sound, though there's something about the glimmer of green in the blue's dark eyes that suggests otherwise. "She's quite striking. Don't discourage her," S'reit murmurs while handing himself up onto the straps. With a wave for the weyrlings, his beast spreads narrow, long wings and leaps skyward.

S'reit steps up onto an outstretched foreleg, then slides up to a spot between Malicith's neckridges.
S'reit has left.

Malicith has left.

Linnea finishes transferring her feet in to her regular boots, and tucks her skates into a bag on her dragon's side. "See ya, L'sen, C'len, Amilin!" Elindath startles at the bugled greeting, and she looks as though she'd like to hiss in return at first, her wing crumpling and folding up against her side. Malicith is watched as he flies off, the strength in his wiry haunches admired. "You have hideous taste. I am so not interested in sleeping with him, so you'd best look elsewhere if you want my cooperation," Li lectures Elindath, not bothering to reply to S'reit. Then she too is mounting up and taking off into the growing darkness.

Linnea vaults up onto Elindath's back, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely.
Linnea has left.

There's clear amusement in C'len's gaze, watching the interaction between the pairs of blue and rider with green and rider. Vildaeth deflates, having not received whatever the desired effect was from his suprise noise. "We can go work on your straps," the young rider offers as to placate the dragon, and the bronze seems to accept that. "G'night Linnea," he calls over with a wave, before standing from his rock and collecting any of his other belongings. Then he and the cinnamon-hued dragon shuffle off toward the barracks, where there's warmth and, as always, work to be found.