Log: Tangled Up In Straps
Who: P'draig, A'riste, Valioth, D'kai, Mikhuth, Imirath
When: 3/31/17
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Post-straps lesson, straps are in the offing and Imirath is doing a bit of his own teaching on the side.
Stolen from lost_my_shoes
The skies are a little overcast on an early spring day over Fort's Bowl. It's late morning after the first round of lessons for the day and a number of Weyrlings are perched on dragonet limbs, rocks or sitting cross-legged on the ground practicing what was just taught earlier about putting straps together. P'draig's wandering amongst those present along with a couple of assistants and chatting or helping out as the case warrants.
A'riste does pretty well with his set: a harper has to know how to work hide and leather to some degree- for making drums, for gitar-straps, for instrument cases. So the concept of working these things, or at least assembling lots of similar-looking parts into a useful whole, is not that rough. It's just tedious but that, too, has always been part of his former occupation. Sometimes he has to look back at Valioth, to double-check the proper arrangement: the big neck-ring thing should go /here/, the cross-ring for the shoulder arrangement, /here/.
"So you really need to hold the leather /tight/," P'draig is telling Neala as he hunkers down by her and Saryan. "Otherwise it can slip and you'll wind up putting the punch through your fingers." The girl blanches and looks up at the Weyrlingmaster, clears her throat and utters a meek "Yessir" before getting back to work. As Paddy moves on Saryan leans over and whispers something to her friend and the two of them roll their eyes expressively but keep working. "Looking good there A'riste," the Weyrlingmaster says as he pauses nearby.
D'kai? Not so well. Not much call for leather harnesses - or much else but a boat and a net - out fishing, and even Mikhuth 'helpfully' nosing at the leather thongs nearby does little to put together the mass of lashes and rings that the lad's got sprawled across the ground. Deke leeeans over to crane his neck at Z'nar's tangled mess, but /that/ certainly doesn't help him much. Finally, he picks them all up and drapes them over Mickey's form, clipping together one here and there and proclaims it done, and beautiful! and in response Mikhuth lifts his feet and prances about in a little circle.
"A shoulder-strap for a human and a shoulder-strap for a dragon are the same thing... theirs is just bigger. And there are a lot more of them." A'riste punches through a strap with the awl with methodical precision. "How many times will we have to make these things? I can't imagine that this'll fit Valioth in even a few weeks." He looks up as Mikhuth prances around in his new 'finery', and smirks. "Now he's as fancy as X'den!"
"A lot," P'draig answers that question, grinning about the comparison to other shoulder straps. "Difference though between these and something you use to carry a bag with, is that these'll keep you from falling off your dragon which I'm told is a very unpleasant way to die," the Weyrlingmaster notes. "So making sure they're nice and strong is a good idea." He straightens and looks over at Deke and Mikhuth and has to cover his mouth for a moment. "Having fun over there Mikhuth?" he calls out and gestures. "Come on over and lets have a closer look, D'kai."
What? That's not right? But they're so /pretty!/ A bit reluctantly, Mikhuth saunters towards P'draig, D'kai right behind. "Yeah, not quite it, huh?" For A'riste's smirk, the tall boy has one of his own past a fluttering bronze wing, though he subdues it into something a little more sober as he draws up to the Weyrlingmaster. Unclipping the harness, he says, "It's just - a lot of stuff going on, you know? Lot of straps and clips and buckles and -" here he trails off as the pile slithers to the ground with a soft 'thud'.
The pile of leathers is eyed dubiously by the Weyrlingmaster. "It is a lot of different pieces going on," he replies to D'kai, smile threatening to break free. "Laying out the whole thing on the ground and numbering the pieces as you put them together often helps," Paddy points out. "Lets you kind of get the bigger picture about the harness." He hunkers down to finger a piece of leather from the pile.
A'riste snorts softly at P'draig, and pauses in his work to look over D'kai's more now that the pair have come closer. "Do you know how much of a pain it is to replace a high-quality gitar? No, it, and I, are both too expensive to replace. Besides, dying of something that ignominious is, well, ignominious. Worse than cracking at that Turnover Gather! A'rit could chronicle my inglorious death: 'The Ballad of A'riste's Incompetent Demise, a Melodrama in Three Parts.'"
"Numbering them, huh?" D'kai nods, thoughtfully. "That'd make sense." And he, too, crouches down to begin sorting out the little heap of hides, hindered a bit by Mikhuth's curious snuffling until he finally pushes away the bronze's head with a grunt. "Shove off, Mickey." It's loving enough, and though the dragonet roughly nudges back at Deke's hand, he eventually slinks back a few paces and settles on his haunches. A'riste's words catch D'kai's attention, and he chortles outright, though he doesn't look up from his sorting. "At least falling from a dragon might be fun - for a few seconds. Not like... consumption, or something."
"Harpers," P'draig says with a little shake of his head. "You'll immortalize just about anything in song," he says teasingly, still sorting through the bits of leather on the ground. "Bad stitching here," he points out to D'kai. "Exactly the kind of thing that can get you killed and wind up immortalized by A'riste and A'rit for." The combination of seriousness and humor from the Weyrlingmaster might be a little odd. "If you like that kind of thing," Paddy nods D'kai's way. "Hitting the ground though, oof. Rather not see any of you go through that. So. Stitch good."
"I thought I was a weyrling now," A'riste remarks lightly, but there's an edge under it, for whatever reason. But in the same breath, he sings helpfully, "'Down he went, with a sound like 'splat!'/ When we found him he'd gone all flat!'"
"Stitch good. Ground bad." Deke says with an emphatic toss of his head, and pulls the offending strap nearer so he might investigate the stitching, eyebrows lifting in what perhaps might be affront at the errant sewing. "Awh. Yeah. Usually I'm so good with that, too." After all that net-mending and the like, perhaps. He adds with a halting sing-song of his own, "Once a great man / 'Twas a mistake / an improper tan / Now flat as a pan-... cake." Harper material? Not so much!
"You got it," P'draig says to D'kai and tips a look over at A'riste. "Mmhm. You are," is all he says by way of answer to that remark. "It'll come. You've got time to work through getting these right and rock solid before they take off." He eyes Mikhuth for a moment then chuckles. "Got a feeling he's going to want you to make the decorative kind too." He smiles as both lads sing tentative verses. "There you go. Keep the whole Barracks in stitches with those." Ha ha.
"Around him guts and blood had spread- / I didn't know they were that red!" A'riste pauses, and considers Deke's offering. "That's not too bad, you rhymed mistake and tan in one line, even if the rhythm's off." He glances back to P'draig, opens his mouth, and then closes it, and looks down at the straps in his own hands. Little wheels are whirling in his head, almost visibly so.
"Month and a bit still, right? Until we're flying?" D'kai confirms hesitantly - more than that again, perhaps? - even as Mikhuth hops to his feet and fans his wings at the thought. However, at P'draig's next speculative glance, the bronze chirrups, a bit gruffly. "He says - he doesn't need that much, sir, and he's quite happy with his tent." Blue eyes flick over to A'riste for a long moment, then Deke shakes his head. "I've got nothing - you're the rhymer in /this/ family, Aer." And he chuckles. "But you could write another song - the Broken Strap Song, or something."
P'draig gives A'riste a brief, brow-raised look, scratches at his chin then nods. "Mm. That or a bit longer. Depends on the dragonet. Everyone's got wing exercises to do, see how it goes when we get there," the Weyrlingmaster says calmly, looks up at Mikhuth as the young dragon's fanning wings send currents of air his way. "Gotcha. He just looked so pleased with the straps on," Paddy notes with a chuckle and leaves off going through D'kai's strap attempt. "Keep at it," he notes of the tangle and looks over at the others still dotting the Bowl. Neala and Saryan are whispering again, Saryan seems to be watching A'riste rather intently in fact and commenting to Neala in between long looks. Paddy narrows his eyes at the pair and clears his throat very audibly. "More strap-working, less gossip you two." And two heads bob downward to stitch. "The Broken Strap Song. Huh. Y'know, could almost make a set of Teaching Ballads just for Weyrlings."
"Seems," A'riste says cautiously, "Like songs can be more trouble than they're worth sometimes." Valioth looks on watchfully, but then leans over to examine Mikhuth's straps, tilting his head this way and that before he whuffles at them, too. And then P'draig gets his rider to thinking more, and he looks up- no, his head jerks up. "Riders writing Teaching Songs? That hasn't been done since... since WeyrSinger C'gan of Benden, has it?"
There's a surprised lift of his eyebrows over at A'riste, though D'kai says nothing. Filed away, perhaps, for later, as he turns himself back to the muddle of straps. Mikhuth arches his neck over at Valioth and sends a snuffle of air /his/ way, too, and curves a wing, almost protectively over the leather, and Deke, as the boy looks up and over at P'draig, and then towards the two girls. "Hey, yeah, Aer," Deke laughs, "It'd be great! And - and you'd be writing about all you know, with Valioth and all."
P'draig looks at A'riste blankly. "Who?" Apparently the Weyrlingmaster is not really up on his 9th Pass Benden history. "And yeah, I mean there's a couple of songs in the Weyrlingmaster Records, but it's mostly the non-sung variety of teaching, you know." The brownrider's hands slip into pockets and he looks between D'kai and A'riste. "Could be that's a way to combine harpering and being a weyrling, A'riste," he points out. "Be sort of like reviewing what you've learned already and you'd have the challenge of putting it to music."
"Weyrsinger," A'riste explains. "He died at the start of the ninth pass. Was a harper before he was a rider. Was... I think they let him be one after." There's a certain note of hope in his tone. "And, ah. I... I'll write a set, then. When this is all over. It wouldn't be right to write teachings before I've learned them properly anyway." Valioth moves his head away, and then examines A'riste's own straps, whuffling them, too, until his rider must shove his head away. "Fine, fine, you can try yours on, you can be as shiny as Mikhuth. Yes, I'm sure-" And he rolls his eyes, "It'll impress the greens."
There! Each strap all laid out, roughly in the shape of Mikhuth - if the bronze were as flat as the rider in A'riste's song. With a bit more care this time, D'kai reharnesses the dragonet, who obligingly stands straight and still as he's clipped and buckled. "There." Deke thumps the bronze's chest, and Mik lifts his head high and cavorts about his rider, warbling with pleasure. Half-watching his dragon, D'kai nods toward A'riste and P'draig, though a bit absently, eyes hazed by dragonspeech as Mikhuth eyes the other bronze. "That'd be right up your alley, wouldn't it, Aer? And it being Interval and all..."
"Oh, huh, I'm not as good with all those history details like my brother," P'draig notes, but listens to the story nonetheless. "Mm. When it's over, or a little during if you like, you know about the stuff you have learned." The last makes him chuckle though. "Shiny as Mikhuth. They got a little competition going on or something?" he asks mildly and watches Mikhuth displaying with a little shake of his head.
"Well, I think he was. I can't go back and check right now. And I could..." And A'riste pauses in settling the straps on Valioth to look up at P'draig, especially after what D'kai says. But all he says is, "They're the only two bronzes in this clutch, right? I think there might be." Valioth eyes Mikhuth right back as his rider goes back to arranging straps. Buckle here, buckle there, everywhere... done!
"Don't worry about it. Might look it up later," P'draig says with an easy shrug, clearly not too fussed about it. He nods though about the colors. "Yep. Just the two of them. And they do kind of seem to have a little of a determined streak to them. How's Valioth about girls so far, actually? Was he saying he wants to impress the greens?"
Imirath, who has appeared to be resting nearby, shifts his wing just enough to peer from beneath his thick eyeridges, inspecting the young dragons wearing their new straps. Hmm, fascinating. His tail starts to twitch, but then is still, intent on silent observation.
Quickly, as Valioth's all clipped in, D'kai says, "Look at that pair of fine-looking dragons!" He sends Mikhuth a long, hard look as the murky-streaked dragonet rollicks a bit too near to Valioth, shoulder down and looking to knock into the other, perhaps. But fortunately Mickey's attention is pulled elsewhere - a flick-flick of a tail, a sparkle of hide caught by the sun, and off he goes towards Imirath, an untightened strap dragging behind. "Does that happen often, P'draig? Competition between dragons, friendly or no?" D'kai looks a bit unhappy as his eyes move from Mikhuth to Valioth.
Valioth preens, his whole posture proud, his wings still outflung like me might just take flight any minute! Though he begins to hiss as Mikhuth starts to cramp his style! "He's... very precocious," A'riste hazards cautiously, with a wince for the byplay between the dragons. "He's not exactly thinking about, ah, those things yet, but he likes impressing them. I think that's why he, uh. Got... I think that's part of what caused the, ah. Disagreement. Of the other day." Valioth's attention shifts to Imirath, then, and he becomes quite watchful, too-- that tail-twitch, the older bronze's eyes. But he doesn't move from where he stands.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath reaches outward ever-so-lightly, a breeze fluttering by and settling for a moment before fading back into a wisp of steam.
"There's often a pair in every clutch, different colors, sometimes different colors from /each other/ though it's usually a male pair," P'draig notes with another shrug. "Just sort of ... how it goes. It's tougher when it's more than one, or if a whole clutch for some reason, is a group of competitive spirits." He watches the two dragons 'showing off' and scratches at the back of his neck. "Mm. Gotcha, A'riste. That's not so bad - but ahh, that does explain a bit. If he was trying to impress Zibeth."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth responds to this touch with a trace of smoke, twisting and coiling up into Imirath's mind with a faint, distant sound of low laughter and speech. Then, crackling-quick, there's a picture of a dark-skinned man, questioning, shrugging, and then Mikhuth's own mindvoice: << Right then - who're you? H'ven't metcha, yet, don't think, yeah? >>
Imirath shifts his short forelimb, appearing momentarily to be resting his chin on his elbow to provide a better platform for observation. Having attracted the attention of the youths registers in a taut grimace, lean cheek muscles pulling back to show, momentarily, a flash of a thick row of sizeable teeth. The tail flicks again, and is stilled, and his gaze holds steady, interrupted only by the flashing of multiple sets of lids.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath is invited by the barrage, his own dampness growing mossy across Mikhuth's mind, invasive yet passive, merely present in an almost uncomfortable manner. << I am Imirath. >> The abruptness of the images halts the mossy invasion, water droplets of nourishment clinging haphazardly, before he continues, << Your strap is not fastened. >>
"Well, I'm glad it's just us then, hey, A'riste?" D'kai chuckles a bit uneasily, turning to follow Mikhuth as he crouches long against the ground, haunches wiggling high, whirling eyes fixed on that tantalizing tail. "Is there anything we can do? Keep them from any real harm? They shouldn't... hurt each other, should they? I mean, Mickey might be a bit enthusiastic but probably wouldn't- oh." As if to intentionally belie Deke's words, Mikhuth springs! at Imirath's tail, and fortunately enough he's tripped up by that loose strap and instead tumbles into the dirt, sliding to a stop some handspans from that inviting target.
A'riste fiddles with a buckle, and then tugs at the whole arrangement, testing for weakness. "He wasn't right then, but he... He didn't-- doesn't like how she sees him. I don't know if he remembers what happened exactly -- I'm thinking about blankets right now -- but he won't even look at her now." Valioth seems to not hear what they say; he's watching the other dragons intently, and unlike his rider, he's not particularly prone to fear, even when Imirath flashes teeth. "I'm pretty sure he's going to like girls a /lot/, though, when he's older." And A'riste's expression is rather complicated at the thought of that. It fades at what D'kai says, and he nods in agreement. "I'd rather they become friends-- oh dear."
"Probably not, they're not really angry dragons like some I've known," P'draig answers, arms folded across chest as he observes the goings on. Behind him Neala and Saryan are whispering again, eyes still fixed on A'riste. "Mm, friends or at least teammates is good," the Weyrlingmaster agrees. "Though sometimes that just doesn't happen." Amusement flashes on his face as Mikhuth hunts Imirath's tail. "Careful. I wouldn't mess with Imirath if I were him." Paddy's gaze returns to A'riste and he nods. "Something to tackle in a few months as they start to mature, but for now, concentrating on distance and togetherness are a good foundation for handling your dragon's preferences." He considers what A'riste said about Valioth and Zibeth and nods. "Hm. Interesting. Well, hopefully that's something you can work out between the four of you. You've all got a lot of growing up to do."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth rolls the name through that thick clammy moss, and there's another whiff of that pungent campfire smell as Mikhuth wafts back: << Seen that, then, d'n't I? >> There's the jingle and clatter of gypsy bells as Mickey tries to shake out that invasive clinging mist, to not much avail, and he mumbles in response, << Yer a great big ol' lump, aren't ye? >>
The tail seems to know it's being watched, and under all that pressure is unable to keep still. Like a tunnelsnake, it wiggles to and fro, slight jerky movements that provoke only the seeming? intentional? ire of its owner, Imirath. Then the tumble is achieved, and the tail is magically still, while Imirath rumbles a deep sound of draconic laughter. A rear leg extends, an action of playfulness or perhaps a handily-timed stretch or reaction to some unheard insult that poorly hides the warning, and he aims to swat the younger dragon right in the jaw.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath fans the campfire's scent into flames, burning the moss, then soaking down the whole mass with an outpouring of water as though drenching from a geyser. The action leaves the mist hanging just as heavily as before, but now backlit by the clang of a rusty forge and the tang of molten metal in the air. << One day, you may be as well, a great big old lump. >> Passing, fleeting, Valioth - then nothingness. << You could best him, if you tended details. >> A flash of leather, the strap dangling, and a puff of dust recreate the tumble.
"I think we can manage teammates, at least, can't we?" Hopefully, to A'riste, D'kai lifts his brows and grins a little grin. "Wouldn't mess with..?" He catches sight of the other bronze just in time to see Mikhuth stumble and duck - likely accidently - out of the way of Imirath's aimed kick, though he's struck in the shoulder and off he goes tumbling into the dust again. "- oh." His eyes fade for a moment, and then Deke shakes his head. "I think I'll let him handle himself on this one. Imirath's not so bad." Says the boy who was Searched by him! And there's a half-questioning look for P'draig's last words to A'riste, though the lad doesn't pry. Meanwhile, Mickey's lurched back to his feet, and aims a swat of his own back at that offending hind leg, and though the dragonet's got speed enough it seems he certainly needs to work on accuracy!
A'riste seems to finally clue in to something, and his gaze strays to the two gossips, too, and lingers there... bemusedly? He seems more curious than anything, instead of either repulsed or attracted. "I don't know what's happened between Berit and I." He keeps his voice so low that only P'draig and D'kai can hear him. "I'd thought we were friends, but that might've just been because I was busy playing the harper... I don't think I lived up to her expectations of how a boy should act, and I'm not sure I want to." He doesn't sound self-pitying or accusatory, just matter-of-fact, and making of it a backhanded explanation for D'kai. "I've never... I've never liked anyone so much that I've wanted to bend over backwards for them. I shouldn't've encouraged D'kai to do that, either." Which edges rather close to an apology.
"Here's hoping," P'draig tells D'kai, squinting after Mikhuth and his Imirath baiting rather than the gossips. Saryan gives A'riste a beatific smile as he looks her way. "Whoa ..." Paddy murmurs and his eyes get vague for a moment, likely touching minds with Jekzith who isn't hovering around nearby today to pass along a quiet warning to Imirath about small dragons and another to Mikhuth about not baiting dragons who're almost twice your size. Blue eyes flick back to A'riste when that's taken care of. "I think she was just really touchy about the whole hair thing, A'riste. She needs to work on her reactions though and hopefully at some point, she'll apologize and the hatchet'll be buried and you guys can get some things sorted out." He frowns a little though about 'bending over backwards'. "Eh?"
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth reverberates indignancy as his flames are suddenly out of control, and in the background, those low mumblings of friends about a fire grow louder, slightly belligerent. There's again that trembling, that slightly blurring shake of mind as Mikhuth attempts to jiggle away the clinging mist, and the sting of metal in the air is overlaid by darker, swirling smoke, and the twang of discordant harp strings. << Long time 'til that, now, innit? >> But that flashquick image of Valioth catches his attention, and it's pulled back, pulled sharper again, inspected, discarded - and the same then for each of the following pictures. << Could, could I? Pr'ty sure I could now. Bloated blighter, that one. >>
The great big lump that is Imirath is fast with the slender whip of tail and neck, but he makes no move to dissuade the returning playful jab of a gesture; instead, he accepts its contact as it barely glances off his leg, his rumbling 'laughter' deepening in its pleasure.
D'kai purses his lips over at A'riste. "Ah." He's silent for a long moment, thinking, then shakes his head as though to clear it. "I don't think I'll ever live up to Berit's expectations, Aer, so I wouldn't worry too much about it. Not sure how many /can/." Again a quick toss of his head, and his lips curl faintly over at the other boy. "Don't worry about it. Really. I'm not as soon to start bending over backwards for her as I'm to -" shrug "- change who I already am." He wrinkles his nose over to P'draig: "Berit'n I had a pretty rough start. I think we're doing... okay, now, though." With that, he turns back to Mikhuth, who seems to've accepted and discarded Jekzith's warning and rolls over to his back, twisting and warbling and sending up puffs of dust alongside Imirath's tail, with an occasional swipe at it and anything near enough to reach.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath fans the flames as with a bellows, both those of malcontent and presented in brief picture or heat in their shared mental contact. A hesitancy hangs on the air, uncertain, lingering just long enough before presenting the err in aim as perceived from the higher vantage point of Imirath's view. << If your accuracy were more precise, perhaps. Though, >> consideration in pattering droplets, << He does seem bloated, now that you make note of it. >>
"She's got... /notions/ about men and women," A'riste mutters. "I don't think it was about the hair thing." He blinks at the girl, and then flushes. Valioth just watches the 'combat'... more precisely, he seems to be taking notes for future reference. His eyes suddenly whirl faster, though, and he shifts his stance, subtly more smug and proud. "...But, ah, er, it would be, uh, nice if we could be friends again." And he looks away from his observers to nod firmly to D'kai after the other youth offers up explanations of his own.
"Mm. Romantic streak a mile wide," P'draig agrees and tips a look over at Saryan and Neala who're giggling now. "And not the only one either," he murmurs with a quiet chuckle. Looking back at D'kai and A'riste his brows lift. "Rough start? Really? Hm. And ... yeah. Be good if an even keel could be gotten to all around. S'up to you to work it out though unless it starts to affect your dragons again. I'm happy to mediate things if it gets out of hand, by expect you guys to solve your own interpersonal issues."
Imirath's lids blink more quickly now, disbelief or confusion for Mikhuth's actions and antics written in the facets of his gaze. Deliberately, the burnished bronze tucks his tail away from rambunctious batting, and he settles down once more, feigning disinterest and trying not to notice the dragonet rolling in the dust by his side.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth sends those roused licks of flame even higher, though he does dampen the thick smoke, flushing it away - a cool breeze sweeping past, with a suggestion of shared laughter trailing behind. Curiosity washes past that hesitancy as Mickey studies the clip - yes, too hasty, too little intent - and then resolve sweeps past. << What're you sayin', then? How'm I to fix my ac'racy? >> And then, flickerfast, Valioth: all puffed up, all intent. Such smug determination! << Git. >>
"Touched her, sir." Deke chuckles, watching Mikhuth trundle to his feet and crane his neck up - and up and up! - to Imirath. "Put my arm around her the first day I met her, and /that/," D'kai waggles his finger toward P'draig, "Is a big Berit no-no. I ended up - well, I cornered her and apologized and then... I don't know what happened, but somehow, we're okay now. Maybe she'll just... forget about it, Aer?" Likely. The boy frowns. "No. She won't, will she?" And then back to Mikhuth, who's now crouched now (as though Imirath couldn't see him!) and began to stalk about the burnished bronze, seeking some 'in', something left unguarded.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath accepts the high flames, the cool breeze, the laughter, absorbing as much as he's able. A doff of uncertainty, a delay tinged by a worry about giving this knowledge to such a young dragon, then indulgence: << You practice. >> Swiping at a chosen object, be it a green leaf on a tree or a stationary rock, and building in intent oceanic waves of delight to taking prey in the hunt, the clear swipe at the target, the fine ministrations needed to carve it up just so. << And in the sky, you fly better. Harder. Stronger. >> As though such practice applies, somehow, to all things.
A'riste looks away-- at Valioth, who continues to observe with outwardly-quiet interest. But his chin lifts just a little under the girl's regard, even if /he's/ not looking, almost an unconscious imitation of his own dragon's mein. "We'll see," he says to them both. "I'm not opposed to a reconciliation."
"Ah, yeah." P'draig's rubbing at his chin again. "SHe's very ah - proper. Has excellent manners really. But anyway." The Weyrlingmaster looks between the bronzeriders and nods. "I hope so. You might wind up needing to work together closely at some time in the future."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth sends in response a crackle of images - fleeting each, nearly gone before it's even twisted into focus - clumsy bronze paws catching after tassels, seeking into dark holes and batting at pebbles and puddles. << Have been, ain't I? >> But he admits this new sensation of hunt and catch and kill, purposeful interest waxing with each ripple, each swell of delight, and then flares agreement with another burst of sparks. << Will. C'n't yet, not yet, >> and then a fanning of wings, and a flicker of bronze in the sky, << But wh'n I can... Yeah. Yeah. >>
Imirath waits, his long neck stretched out in a put-on gesture of longsuffering, this limbo maintained until Mikhuth circles and nears his wing. Casually, his wingjoint lifts in a convenient stretch, creating a potential cavern to be spelunked beneath the wingsail's folds and depths.
"Well, sir, I guess it's not completely unreasonable to think one of us -" and a motion indicates D'kai means Valioth, and Mikhuth, and not the riders themselves, "- might catch Zibeth. Later. Is that what you mean?" Deke eyes P'draig curiously, drumming his fingers against his belt. "That seems... so distant. Not sure how I feel about that, yet." A bright trill draws his attention over towards his bronze, who plants himself firmly for a long moment, considering this lair. Then, clearly unable to resist, he darts forward, snuffling into the dirt and quickly disappearing under that oh-so-baiting wing.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath takes in this whirlwind of images, fleeting bits of stories behind each mined and abandoned for what's available within them. << Good. >> The waterfall of contact seems to flow backward, upward, as he retreats, but it is largely illusory. << There is great pleasure in the hunt. And in flight. You must practice early, strengthen the muscles, if you hope to be -permitted- >> the term afforded a wry, ironic bent, << to take these liberties ahead of your clutchmates. >> Again, the haughty flicker of Valioth is presented, a jibing lure.
Valioth's eyes whirl faster, and he turns his head toward P'draig-- maybe he does know what they're talking about after all? But A'riste only states quietly, "That is not my ambition." He might stand proudly under the girl's regard, he might have been a prima-donna back at the Hall, but he has not yet set his ambitions so high. The difference, the sheer /distance/, between Mastersinger and Weyrleader is immense.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth turns all of this over and over. << P'rmitted. >> It's that one word that catches his bright interest, perhaps the only bit he really absorbs, and it puffs up into smoke and is brushed away by a gentle whisper of laughter. << Yeah? That's how's, then? P'rmitted? Whose t'stop me? >> Certainly not /Valioth/ - that is nudged away, but kept, stored for later, perhaps. << Once s'done, s'done. 'n we're meant to fly, yeah? >> A stretch of wheaten amber wings momentarily cloud vision, against the blue of the sky, the rustling wind.
"Mm. Might at that. Mikhuth or Valioth could wind up siring a clutch, or depending on how the world turns, one of you could wind up Weyrleader someday. ALl bronzeriders have to think about it, eventually. Be ready for it. Whether it's your ambition or not." And after dropping that bomb, P'draig straightens, eyeballing J'vran who has ... quite the mess in his lap and is holding his hand. Yep, he punched his finger. "Excuse me, looks like J'vran needs checking with - and maybe stitches if he's not lucky. I'll talk to you both later." And with that, Paddy's off.
Unsurprisingly, Imirath snaps down the wing, effectively trying to trap Mikhuth inside. Oh so casual, he lifts his head, faceted eyes whirling toward the intent-on-something-else Valioth, drawing attention to his 'captive, regardless of the clumsy weyrling nearby's messy state.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath roils the concept about, an echo of 'permitteds' bouncing off of stone cavern walls, off of forge components, through valleys thick with reeds and standing water. << We are meant to fly, >> is reiterated, reinforced. << Who is to stop you? >> The repetition confirms Mikhuth's sentiments, rousing them with the allure of wingbeats against sunset, of spanning vistas and muscles tensed for flight.
"Maybe not your ambition, Aer, but... Who knows what'll happen? You can't really call Valioth off from a flight." Can he? D'kai shakes his head, but his attention is drawn as Mikhuth lets out a furious squeal, captured as he is under that pinning wing. "Awh, Mickey, you got yourself into that one!" He calls with a laugh. "No help here." And he shakes his head, turning back to A'riste. "And it's not like you couldn't be a Harper /and/ a Weyrleader?" But his voice is dubious, hinted with ill-concealed laughter as Mikhuth squirms and contorts and flattens himself in an attempt to squeeeeeze out from under Imirath's snare.
Valioth seems disinclined to be baited: let Mikhuth get himself out of this one, since he's so willingly gotten himself into it. His eyes whirl swiftly, though, with draconic laughter, as he can't help but look! A'riste begins to laugh himself (after a dismayed glance to the wounded weyrling, but that one's in good hands now!), soft and low, even as he shakes his head. "I don't know! Would I even have time? If it were Berit, I'd have no time to do anything but manage her. I'd never get a song in edgewise."
Imirath holds the spars down from the wingjoint, pressing harder against the furious efforts to quell them, or perhaps to encourage them. The indifference in his expression is repeated in the tranquil spinning of his eyes. This pin continues for a few moments, until he spies -it- in the distance: a lone herdbeast, wandering about the bowl and lowing softly, lost. A conundrum: free-range dinner, or torment the dragonet? In his distraction, his hold loosens, making it possible for the latter to wriggle free.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth softens that reverberation, wreathing himself in thick white smoke and bouncing the word right back at Imirath, though eventually allowing it to fade to a quivering, contemplative silence. << Dunno. >> And then, slowly, << 'll do that, then, yeah? >> But it's hesitant, questioning: is Mickey really to listen to the advice of this older bronze?
A-ha! And with that slight release Mikhtuh does squirm free and away, dancing backward a few paces, out of Imirath's reach. He rumbles dismay, craning his neck back up, but can't resist darting forward one last time to take a sharp swat at the bronze's forepaw, and then - whether it's landed or no - bounding back out of reach. "There, now, Mickey," D'kai chortles, "Learned your lesson, did you?" Maybe. But A'riste's comment has Deke's laughter, quick and bright. "Right you are, Aer. Maybe she'll settle down a bit once Zibeth's older?"
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath draws back, relishing the silence and its misted, heavy thickness. << When you are ready, it will be time to fly. >> The adage is a refuge, a distant, disinterested commentary leaving the wheaten youth to his own devices to no fault of Imirath's own. As the dragonet is pinned coincides, << Action is good. Thought before action, better. >> With this, the touch withdraws, trickling bemused irritation at the swat, soon replaced by a burning hunger and the thrill of the hunt.
Valioth rumbles quietly, echoing A'riste's amusement. At Mikhuth? At Berit and Zibeth? "I don't know," chuckles his rider. "I don't envy... whichever man it is who catches her that task. If it's you, you've got my sympathies. Though I've seen her smile at you lately, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad."
The burnished bronze's wingtips flutter now, the talons at each closing reflexively in eagerness. So distracted, he's an easy target, but the batting wheaten bronze at below receives no retribution. Instead, Imirath leaps, startling the liberated herdbeast into an all out run. Taking abrupt leave of his companions, only a dust swirl is left behind. Apparently, they taste better if they're scared witless.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth fades away with the other's final touch with a gentle wisp of smoke, all the much wiser for the entrapment and lesson taught.
"Smile? At me?" D'kai lays his fingers light against his chest, surprise lifting his eyebrows. "If she has, I haven't seen it." But he does smile, and laugh as Mikhuth crouches against the little dustdevil resulting from Imirath's departure, and then slinks back towards his lifemate. "Welcome back, Mickey." Then, to A'riste: "I don't think a smile here or there would make her any less of a drea- ah, formidable weyrmate."
"She doesn't have to be your weyrmate even if you-- if he wins her flight," A'riste remarks. "Unless you both wanted it. I've been looking into these things... just in case." And he shudders.
"Just in case- well, you can't very well avoid these things for the rest of your life? Not the weyrmating," and D'kai nods, corrected. "But... flights. Golds. Greens." He waves a hand. "All that stuff."
A'riste's red-faced again, and waves a hand, too. "I'd be one of those men hurting whoever they'd be with, I'm sure of it! I've got no idea about... I mean..." And he shuts his mouth. (Is it even /normal/ for a bronzerider to admit that he's a virgin?) Valioth examines his face very intently.
"They... they advise you to, you know. Learn. Talk to people who might can, er, experience you before you - hurt anyone. Or so I've heard. That's not something you can have... /explained/ to you, you know." As well A'riste likely does! Does D'kai really need to explain that? We've all heard that attempted before! The lad flushes slightly, unsure of how to quite follow this strain of conversation. "That's- not usual, Aer. I wouldn't be too worried about it." Easy enough to say!
A'riste folds his arms, and eyes the dirt; his admirer's completely forgotten. "Um," he says quite intelligently. "Yeah. Have, um. Have you, uh...? I mean, you seem to, well. Not be a complete idiot around, uh. Stuff."
D'kai scuffs at that dirt, almost - but not quite - as intelligible as A'riste when he repeats the word 'stuff' once or twice and then shrugs, a bit red-faced. "Yeah. Gathers, uh, visits to the Hold. Nothing... special, like they say. Nothing magical." And then he looks to Mikhuth, perhaps for encouragement, but the bronze is too busy scuffling about in the dust to pay his rider any attention.
Valioth then noses at Mikhuth: is the other bronze okay after being trapped in a cavernous wing? A'riste just mutters, "...Oh. Well. Uh. Yeah."
Mickey rumbles an affirmative in response, flipping his wings to his back and straightening - quite okay, thank you! Deke snorts, moves as if to bump at A'riste's shoulder, then thinks the better of it and crosses his arms, too, across his chest. "Uh," he repeats, "yeah. It wasn't - just some - girls. I don't know." Not much to add to that, and D'kai falls silent, a bit awkwardly.
A'riste considers, and then completes the movement. Bump! He looks away, suddenly amused by it all. "Yeah." Valioth rumbles, and then inspects Mikhuth, and then seems pleased. Maybe he's trying to be conciliatory? << You got his paw, didn't you? >>
Quite pleased: << Did. Ye saw, then? >> Mikhuth preens for a bit, but the motion is interrupted by a sudden twitch. The bronze turns wide eyes onto D'kai, who nods. "Well -" with a bit of a grin for A'riste as he brushes his hands off of invisible dust. "- Mickey's needing to be oiled. I'll see you around, then, yeah?" And with that he heads off, Mikhuth sharp on his heels.
"...Yeah," A'riste says softly, again, as he watches the other pair go. Quietly, he turns back to fix Valioth's straps. "See you."
When: 3/31/17
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Post-straps lesson, straps are in the offing and Imirath is doing a bit of his own teaching on the side.
Stolen from lost_my_shoes
The skies are a little overcast on an early spring day over Fort's Bowl. It's late morning after the first round of lessons for the day and a number of Weyrlings are perched on dragonet limbs, rocks or sitting cross-legged on the ground practicing what was just taught earlier about putting straps together. P'draig's wandering amongst those present along with a couple of assistants and chatting or helping out as the case warrants.
A'riste does pretty well with his set: a harper has to know how to work hide and leather to some degree- for making drums, for gitar-straps, for instrument cases. So the concept of working these things, or at least assembling lots of similar-looking parts into a useful whole, is not that rough. It's just tedious but that, too, has always been part of his former occupation. Sometimes he has to look back at Valioth, to double-check the proper arrangement: the big neck-ring thing should go /here/, the cross-ring for the shoulder arrangement, /here/.
"So you really need to hold the leather /tight/," P'draig is telling Neala as he hunkers down by her and Saryan. "Otherwise it can slip and you'll wind up putting the punch through your fingers." The girl blanches and looks up at the Weyrlingmaster, clears her throat and utters a meek "Yessir" before getting back to work. As Paddy moves on Saryan leans over and whispers something to her friend and the two of them roll their eyes expressively but keep working. "Looking good there A'riste," the Weyrlingmaster says as he pauses nearby.
D'kai? Not so well. Not much call for leather harnesses - or much else but a boat and a net - out fishing, and even Mikhuth 'helpfully' nosing at the leather thongs nearby does little to put together the mass of lashes and rings that the lad's got sprawled across the ground. Deke leeeans over to crane his neck at Z'nar's tangled mess, but /that/ certainly doesn't help him much. Finally, he picks them all up and drapes them over Mickey's form, clipping together one here and there and proclaims it done, and beautiful! and in response Mikhuth lifts his feet and prances about in a little circle.
"A shoulder-strap for a human and a shoulder-strap for a dragon are the same thing... theirs is just bigger. And there are a lot more of them." A'riste punches through a strap with the awl with methodical precision. "How many times will we have to make these things? I can't imagine that this'll fit Valioth in even a few weeks." He looks up as Mikhuth prances around in his new 'finery', and smirks. "Now he's as fancy as X'den!"
"A lot," P'draig answers that question, grinning about the comparison to other shoulder straps. "Difference though between these and something you use to carry a bag with, is that these'll keep you from falling off your dragon which I'm told is a very unpleasant way to die," the Weyrlingmaster notes. "So making sure they're nice and strong is a good idea." He straightens and looks over at Deke and Mikhuth and has to cover his mouth for a moment. "Having fun over there Mikhuth?" he calls out and gestures. "Come on over and lets have a closer look, D'kai."
What? That's not right? But they're so /pretty!/ A bit reluctantly, Mikhuth saunters towards P'draig, D'kai right behind. "Yeah, not quite it, huh?" For A'riste's smirk, the tall boy has one of his own past a fluttering bronze wing, though he subdues it into something a little more sober as he draws up to the Weyrlingmaster. Unclipping the harness, he says, "It's just - a lot of stuff going on, you know? Lot of straps and clips and buckles and -" here he trails off as the pile slithers to the ground with a soft 'thud'.
The pile of leathers is eyed dubiously by the Weyrlingmaster. "It is a lot of different pieces going on," he replies to D'kai, smile threatening to break free. "Laying out the whole thing on the ground and numbering the pieces as you put them together often helps," Paddy points out. "Lets you kind of get the bigger picture about the harness." He hunkers down to finger a piece of leather from the pile.
A'riste snorts softly at P'draig, and pauses in his work to look over D'kai's more now that the pair have come closer. "Do you know how much of a pain it is to replace a high-quality gitar? No, it, and I, are both too expensive to replace. Besides, dying of something that ignominious is, well, ignominious. Worse than cracking at that Turnover Gather! A'rit could chronicle my inglorious death: 'The Ballad of A'riste's Incompetent Demise, a Melodrama in Three Parts.'"
"Numbering them, huh?" D'kai nods, thoughtfully. "That'd make sense." And he, too, crouches down to begin sorting out the little heap of hides, hindered a bit by Mikhuth's curious snuffling until he finally pushes away the bronze's head with a grunt. "Shove off, Mickey." It's loving enough, and though the dragonet roughly nudges back at Deke's hand, he eventually slinks back a few paces and settles on his haunches. A'riste's words catch D'kai's attention, and he chortles outright, though he doesn't look up from his sorting. "At least falling from a dragon might be fun - for a few seconds. Not like... consumption, or something."
"Harpers," P'draig says with a little shake of his head. "You'll immortalize just about anything in song," he says teasingly, still sorting through the bits of leather on the ground. "Bad stitching here," he points out to D'kai. "Exactly the kind of thing that can get you killed and wind up immortalized by A'riste and A'rit for." The combination of seriousness and humor from the Weyrlingmaster might be a little odd. "If you like that kind of thing," Paddy nods D'kai's way. "Hitting the ground though, oof. Rather not see any of you go through that. So. Stitch good."
"I thought I was a weyrling now," A'riste remarks lightly, but there's an edge under it, for whatever reason. But in the same breath, he sings helpfully, "'Down he went, with a sound like 'splat!'/ When we found him he'd gone all flat!'"
"Stitch good. Ground bad." Deke says with an emphatic toss of his head, and pulls the offending strap nearer so he might investigate the stitching, eyebrows lifting in what perhaps might be affront at the errant sewing. "Awh. Yeah. Usually I'm so good with that, too." After all that net-mending and the like, perhaps. He adds with a halting sing-song of his own, "Once a great man / 'Twas a mistake / an improper tan / Now flat as a pan-... cake." Harper material? Not so much!
"You got it," P'draig says to D'kai and tips a look over at A'riste. "Mmhm. You are," is all he says by way of answer to that remark. "It'll come. You've got time to work through getting these right and rock solid before they take off." He eyes Mikhuth for a moment then chuckles. "Got a feeling he's going to want you to make the decorative kind too." He smiles as both lads sing tentative verses. "There you go. Keep the whole Barracks in stitches with those." Ha ha.
"Around him guts and blood had spread- / I didn't know they were that red!" A'riste pauses, and considers Deke's offering. "That's not too bad, you rhymed mistake and tan in one line, even if the rhythm's off." He glances back to P'draig, opens his mouth, and then closes it, and looks down at the straps in his own hands. Little wheels are whirling in his head, almost visibly so.
"Month and a bit still, right? Until we're flying?" D'kai confirms hesitantly - more than that again, perhaps? - even as Mikhuth hops to his feet and fans his wings at the thought. However, at P'draig's next speculative glance, the bronze chirrups, a bit gruffly. "He says - he doesn't need that much, sir, and he's quite happy with his tent." Blue eyes flick over to A'riste for a long moment, then Deke shakes his head. "I've got nothing - you're the rhymer in /this/ family, Aer." And he chuckles. "But you could write another song - the Broken Strap Song, or something."
P'draig gives A'riste a brief, brow-raised look, scratches at his chin then nods. "Mm. That or a bit longer. Depends on the dragonet. Everyone's got wing exercises to do, see how it goes when we get there," the Weyrlingmaster says calmly, looks up at Mikhuth as the young dragon's fanning wings send currents of air his way. "Gotcha. He just looked so pleased with the straps on," Paddy notes with a chuckle and leaves off going through D'kai's strap attempt. "Keep at it," he notes of the tangle and looks over at the others still dotting the Bowl. Neala and Saryan are whispering again, Saryan seems to be watching A'riste rather intently in fact and commenting to Neala in between long looks. Paddy narrows his eyes at the pair and clears his throat very audibly. "More strap-working, less gossip you two." And two heads bob downward to stitch. "The Broken Strap Song. Huh. Y'know, could almost make a set of Teaching Ballads just for Weyrlings."
"Seems," A'riste says cautiously, "Like songs can be more trouble than they're worth sometimes." Valioth looks on watchfully, but then leans over to examine Mikhuth's straps, tilting his head this way and that before he whuffles at them, too. And then P'draig gets his rider to thinking more, and he looks up- no, his head jerks up. "Riders writing Teaching Songs? That hasn't been done since... since WeyrSinger C'gan of Benden, has it?"
There's a surprised lift of his eyebrows over at A'riste, though D'kai says nothing. Filed away, perhaps, for later, as he turns himself back to the muddle of straps. Mikhuth arches his neck over at Valioth and sends a snuffle of air /his/ way, too, and curves a wing, almost protectively over the leather, and Deke, as the boy looks up and over at P'draig, and then towards the two girls. "Hey, yeah, Aer," Deke laughs, "It'd be great! And - and you'd be writing about all you know, with Valioth and all."
P'draig looks at A'riste blankly. "Who?" Apparently the Weyrlingmaster is not really up on his 9th Pass Benden history. "And yeah, I mean there's a couple of songs in the Weyrlingmaster Records, but it's mostly the non-sung variety of teaching, you know." The brownrider's hands slip into pockets and he looks between D'kai and A'riste. "Could be that's a way to combine harpering and being a weyrling, A'riste," he points out. "Be sort of like reviewing what you've learned already and you'd have the challenge of putting it to music."
"Weyrsinger," A'riste explains. "He died at the start of the ninth pass. Was a harper before he was a rider. Was... I think they let him be one after." There's a certain note of hope in his tone. "And, ah. I... I'll write a set, then. When this is all over. It wouldn't be right to write teachings before I've learned them properly anyway." Valioth moves his head away, and then examines A'riste's own straps, whuffling them, too, until his rider must shove his head away. "Fine, fine, you can try yours on, you can be as shiny as Mikhuth. Yes, I'm sure-" And he rolls his eyes, "It'll impress the greens."
There! Each strap all laid out, roughly in the shape of Mikhuth - if the bronze were as flat as the rider in A'riste's song. With a bit more care this time, D'kai reharnesses the dragonet, who obligingly stands straight and still as he's clipped and buckled. "There." Deke thumps the bronze's chest, and Mik lifts his head high and cavorts about his rider, warbling with pleasure. Half-watching his dragon, D'kai nods toward A'riste and P'draig, though a bit absently, eyes hazed by dragonspeech as Mikhuth eyes the other bronze. "That'd be right up your alley, wouldn't it, Aer? And it being Interval and all..."
"Oh, huh, I'm not as good with all those history details like my brother," P'draig notes, but listens to the story nonetheless. "Mm. When it's over, or a little during if you like, you know about the stuff you have learned." The last makes him chuckle though. "Shiny as Mikhuth. They got a little competition going on or something?" he asks mildly and watches Mikhuth displaying with a little shake of his head.
"Well, I think he was. I can't go back and check right now. And I could..." And A'riste pauses in settling the straps on Valioth to look up at P'draig, especially after what D'kai says. But all he says is, "They're the only two bronzes in this clutch, right? I think there might be." Valioth eyes Mikhuth right back as his rider goes back to arranging straps. Buckle here, buckle there, everywhere... done!
"Don't worry about it. Might look it up later," P'draig says with an easy shrug, clearly not too fussed about it. He nods though about the colors. "Yep. Just the two of them. And they do kind of seem to have a little of a determined streak to them. How's Valioth about girls so far, actually? Was he saying he wants to impress the greens?"
Imirath, who has appeared to be resting nearby, shifts his wing just enough to peer from beneath his thick eyeridges, inspecting the young dragons wearing their new straps. Hmm, fascinating. His tail starts to twitch, but then is still, intent on silent observation.
Quickly, as Valioth's all clipped in, D'kai says, "Look at that pair of fine-looking dragons!" He sends Mikhuth a long, hard look as the murky-streaked dragonet rollicks a bit too near to Valioth, shoulder down and looking to knock into the other, perhaps. But fortunately Mickey's attention is pulled elsewhere - a flick-flick of a tail, a sparkle of hide caught by the sun, and off he goes towards Imirath, an untightened strap dragging behind. "Does that happen often, P'draig? Competition between dragons, friendly or no?" D'kai looks a bit unhappy as his eyes move from Mikhuth to Valioth.
Valioth preens, his whole posture proud, his wings still outflung like me might just take flight any minute! Though he begins to hiss as Mikhuth starts to cramp his style! "He's... very precocious," A'riste hazards cautiously, with a wince for the byplay between the dragons. "He's not exactly thinking about, ah, those things yet, but he likes impressing them. I think that's why he, uh. Got... I think that's part of what caused the, ah. Disagreement. Of the other day." Valioth's attention shifts to Imirath, then, and he becomes quite watchful, too-- that tail-twitch, the older bronze's eyes. But he doesn't move from where he stands.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath reaches outward ever-so-lightly, a breeze fluttering by and settling for a moment before fading back into a wisp of steam.
"There's often a pair in every clutch, different colors, sometimes different colors from /each other/ though it's usually a male pair," P'draig notes with another shrug. "Just sort of ... how it goes. It's tougher when it's more than one, or if a whole clutch for some reason, is a group of competitive spirits." He watches the two dragons 'showing off' and scratches at the back of his neck. "Mm. Gotcha, A'riste. That's not so bad - but ahh, that does explain a bit. If he was trying to impress Zibeth."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth responds to this touch with a trace of smoke, twisting and coiling up into Imirath's mind with a faint, distant sound of low laughter and speech. Then, crackling-quick, there's a picture of a dark-skinned man, questioning, shrugging, and then Mikhuth's own mindvoice: << Right then - who're you? H'ven't metcha, yet, don't think, yeah? >>
Imirath shifts his short forelimb, appearing momentarily to be resting his chin on his elbow to provide a better platform for observation. Having attracted the attention of the youths registers in a taut grimace, lean cheek muscles pulling back to show, momentarily, a flash of a thick row of sizeable teeth. The tail flicks again, and is stilled, and his gaze holds steady, interrupted only by the flashing of multiple sets of lids.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath is invited by the barrage, his own dampness growing mossy across Mikhuth's mind, invasive yet passive, merely present in an almost uncomfortable manner. << I am Imirath. >> The abruptness of the images halts the mossy invasion, water droplets of nourishment clinging haphazardly, before he continues, << Your strap is not fastened. >>
"Well, I'm glad it's just us then, hey, A'riste?" D'kai chuckles a bit uneasily, turning to follow Mikhuth as he crouches long against the ground, haunches wiggling high, whirling eyes fixed on that tantalizing tail. "Is there anything we can do? Keep them from any real harm? They shouldn't... hurt each other, should they? I mean, Mickey might be a bit enthusiastic but probably wouldn't- oh." As if to intentionally belie Deke's words, Mikhuth springs! at Imirath's tail, and fortunately enough he's tripped up by that loose strap and instead tumbles into the dirt, sliding to a stop some handspans from that inviting target.
A'riste fiddles with a buckle, and then tugs at the whole arrangement, testing for weakness. "He wasn't right then, but he... He didn't-- doesn't like how she sees him. I don't know if he remembers what happened exactly -- I'm thinking about blankets right now -- but he won't even look at her now." Valioth seems to not hear what they say; he's watching the other dragons intently, and unlike his rider, he's not particularly prone to fear, even when Imirath flashes teeth. "I'm pretty sure he's going to like girls a /lot/, though, when he's older." And A'riste's expression is rather complicated at the thought of that. It fades at what D'kai says, and he nods in agreement. "I'd rather they become friends-- oh dear."
"Probably not, they're not really angry dragons like some I've known," P'draig answers, arms folded across chest as he observes the goings on. Behind him Neala and Saryan are whispering again, eyes still fixed on A'riste. "Mm, friends or at least teammates is good," the Weyrlingmaster agrees. "Though sometimes that just doesn't happen." Amusement flashes on his face as Mikhuth hunts Imirath's tail. "Careful. I wouldn't mess with Imirath if I were him." Paddy's gaze returns to A'riste and he nods. "Something to tackle in a few months as they start to mature, but for now, concentrating on distance and togetherness are a good foundation for handling your dragon's preferences." He considers what A'riste said about Valioth and Zibeth and nods. "Hm. Interesting. Well, hopefully that's something you can work out between the four of you. You've all got a lot of growing up to do."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth rolls the name through that thick clammy moss, and there's another whiff of that pungent campfire smell as Mikhuth wafts back: << Seen that, then, d'n't I? >> There's the jingle and clatter of gypsy bells as Mickey tries to shake out that invasive clinging mist, to not much avail, and he mumbles in response, << Yer a great big ol' lump, aren't ye? >>
The tail seems to know it's being watched, and under all that pressure is unable to keep still. Like a tunnelsnake, it wiggles to and fro, slight jerky movements that provoke only the seeming? intentional? ire of its owner, Imirath. Then the tumble is achieved, and the tail is magically still, while Imirath rumbles a deep sound of draconic laughter. A rear leg extends, an action of playfulness or perhaps a handily-timed stretch or reaction to some unheard insult that poorly hides the warning, and he aims to swat the younger dragon right in the jaw.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath fans the campfire's scent into flames, burning the moss, then soaking down the whole mass with an outpouring of water as though drenching from a geyser. The action leaves the mist hanging just as heavily as before, but now backlit by the clang of a rusty forge and the tang of molten metal in the air. << One day, you may be as well, a great big old lump. >> Passing, fleeting, Valioth - then nothingness. << You could best him, if you tended details. >> A flash of leather, the strap dangling, and a puff of dust recreate the tumble.
"I think we can manage teammates, at least, can't we?" Hopefully, to A'riste, D'kai lifts his brows and grins a little grin. "Wouldn't mess with..?" He catches sight of the other bronze just in time to see Mikhuth stumble and duck - likely accidently - out of the way of Imirath's aimed kick, though he's struck in the shoulder and off he goes tumbling into the dust again. "- oh." His eyes fade for a moment, and then Deke shakes his head. "I think I'll let him handle himself on this one. Imirath's not so bad." Says the boy who was Searched by him! And there's a half-questioning look for P'draig's last words to A'riste, though the lad doesn't pry. Meanwhile, Mickey's lurched back to his feet, and aims a swat of his own back at that offending hind leg, and though the dragonet's got speed enough it seems he certainly needs to work on accuracy!
A'riste seems to finally clue in to something, and his gaze strays to the two gossips, too, and lingers there... bemusedly? He seems more curious than anything, instead of either repulsed or attracted. "I don't know what's happened between Berit and I." He keeps his voice so low that only P'draig and D'kai can hear him. "I'd thought we were friends, but that might've just been because I was busy playing the harper... I don't think I lived up to her expectations of how a boy should act, and I'm not sure I want to." He doesn't sound self-pitying or accusatory, just matter-of-fact, and making of it a backhanded explanation for D'kai. "I've never... I've never liked anyone so much that I've wanted to bend over backwards for them. I shouldn't've encouraged D'kai to do that, either." Which edges rather close to an apology.
"Here's hoping," P'draig tells D'kai, squinting after Mikhuth and his Imirath baiting rather than the gossips. Saryan gives A'riste a beatific smile as he looks her way. "Whoa ..." Paddy murmurs and his eyes get vague for a moment, likely touching minds with Jekzith who isn't hovering around nearby today to pass along a quiet warning to Imirath about small dragons and another to Mikhuth about not baiting dragons who're almost twice your size. Blue eyes flick back to A'riste when that's taken care of. "I think she was just really touchy about the whole hair thing, A'riste. She needs to work on her reactions though and hopefully at some point, she'll apologize and the hatchet'll be buried and you guys can get some things sorted out." He frowns a little though about 'bending over backwards'. "Eh?"
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth reverberates indignancy as his flames are suddenly out of control, and in the background, those low mumblings of friends about a fire grow louder, slightly belligerent. There's again that trembling, that slightly blurring shake of mind as Mikhuth attempts to jiggle away the clinging mist, and the sting of metal in the air is overlaid by darker, swirling smoke, and the twang of discordant harp strings. << Long time 'til that, now, innit? >> But that flashquick image of Valioth catches his attention, and it's pulled back, pulled sharper again, inspected, discarded - and the same then for each of the following pictures. << Could, could I? Pr'ty sure I could now. Bloated blighter, that one. >>
The great big lump that is Imirath is fast with the slender whip of tail and neck, but he makes no move to dissuade the returning playful jab of a gesture; instead, he accepts its contact as it barely glances off his leg, his rumbling 'laughter' deepening in its pleasure.
D'kai purses his lips over at A'riste. "Ah." He's silent for a long moment, thinking, then shakes his head as though to clear it. "I don't think I'll ever live up to Berit's expectations, Aer, so I wouldn't worry too much about it. Not sure how many /can/." Again a quick toss of his head, and his lips curl faintly over at the other boy. "Don't worry about it. Really. I'm not as soon to start bending over backwards for her as I'm to -" shrug "- change who I already am." He wrinkles his nose over to P'draig: "Berit'n I had a pretty rough start. I think we're doing... okay, now, though." With that, he turns back to Mikhuth, who seems to've accepted and discarded Jekzith's warning and rolls over to his back, twisting and warbling and sending up puffs of dust alongside Imirath's tail, with an occasional swipe at it and anything near enough to reach.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath fans the flames as with a bellows, both those of malcontent and presented in brief picture or heat in their shared mental contact. A hesitancy hangs on the air, uncertain, lingering just long enough before presenting the err in aim as perceived from the higher vantage point of Imirath's view. << If your accuracy were more precise, perhaps. Though, >> consideration in pattering droplets, << He does seem bloated, now that you make note of it. >>
"She's got... /notions/ about men and women," A'riste mutters. "I don't think it was about the hair thing." He blinks at the girl, and then flushes. Valioth just watches the 'combat'... more precisely, he seems to be taking notes for future reference. His eyes suddenly whirl faster, though, and he shifts his stance, subtly more smug and proud. "...But, ah, er, it would be, uh, nice if we could be friends again." And he looks away from his observers to nod firmly to D'kai after the other youth offers up explanations of his own.
"Mm. Romantic streak a mile wide," P'draig agrees and tips a look over at Saryan and Neala who're giggling now. "And not the only one either," he murmurs with a quiet chuckle. Looking back at D'kai and A'riste his brows lift. "Rough start? Really? Hm. And ... yeah. Be good if an even keel could be gotten to all around. S'up to you to work it out though unless it starts to affect your dragons again. I'm happy to mediate things if it gets out of hand, by expect you guys to solve your own interpersonal issues."
Imirath's lids blink more quickly now, disbelief or confusion for Mikhuth's actions and antics written in the facets of his gaze. Deliberately, the burnished bronze tucks his tail away from rambunctious batting, and he settles down once more, feigning disinterest and trying not to notice the dragonet rolling in the dust by his side.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth sends those roused licks of flame even higher, though he does dampen the thick smoke, flushing it away - a cool breeze sweeping past, with a suggestion of shared laughter trailing behind. Curiosity washes past that hesitancy as Mickey studies the clip - yes, too hasty, too little intent - and then resolve sweeps past. << What're you sayin', then? How'm I to fix my ac'racy? >> And then, flickerfast, Valioth: all puffed up, all intent. Such smug determination! << Git. >>
"Touched her, sir." Deke chuckles, watching Mikhuth trundle to his feet and crane his neck up - and up and up! - to Imirath. "Put my arm around her the first day I met her, and /that/," D'kai waggles his finger toward P'draig, "Is a big Berit no-no. I ended up - well, I cornered her and apologized and then... I don't know what happened, but somehow, we're okay now. Maybe she'll just... forget about it, Aer?" Likely. The boy frowns. "No. She won't, will she?" And then back to Mikhuth, who's now crouched now (as though Imirath couldn't see him!) and began to stalk about the burnished bronze, seeking some 'in', something left unguarded.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath accepts the high flames, the cool breeze, the laughter, absorbing as much as he's able. A doff of uncertainty, a delay tinged by a worry about giving this knowledge to such a young dragon, then indulgence: << You practice. >> Swiping at a chosen object, be it a green leaf on a tree or a stationary rock, and building in intent oceanic waves of delight to taking prey in the hunt, the clear swipe at the target, the fine ministrations needed to carve it up just so. << And in the sky, you fly better. Harder. Stronger. >> As though such practice applies, somehow, to all things.
A'riste looks away-- at Valioth, who continues to observe with outwardly-quiet interest. But his chin lifts just a little under the girl's regard, even if /he's/ not looking, almost an unconscious imitation of his own dragon's mein. "We'll see," he says to them both. "I'm not opposed to a reconciliation."
"Ah, yeah." P'draig's rubbing at his chin again. "SHe's very ah - proper. Has excellent manners really. But anyway." The Weyrlingmaster looks between the bronzeriders and nods. "I hope so. You might wind up needing to work together closely at some time in the future."
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth sends in response a crackle of images - fleeting each, nearly gone before it's even twisted into focus - clumsy bronze paws catching after tassels, seeking into dark holes and batting at pebbles and puddles. << Have been, ain't I? >> But he admits this new sensation of hunt and catch and kill, purposeful interest waxing with each ripple, each swell of delight, and then flares agreement with another burst of sparks. << Will. C'n't yet, not yet, >> and then a fanning of wings, and a flicker of bronze in the sky, << But wh'n I can... Yeah. Yeah. >>
Imirath waits, his long neck stretched out in a put-on gesture of longsuffering, this limbo maintained until Mikhuth circles and nears his wing. Casually, his wingjoint lifts in a convenient stretch, creating a potential cavern to be spelunked beneath the wingsail's folds and depths.
"Well, sir, I guess it's not completely unreasonable to think one of us -" and a motion indicates D'kai means Valioth, and Mikhuth, and not the riders themselves, "- might catch Zibeth. Later. Is that what you mean?" Deke eyes P'draig curiously, drumming his fingers against his belt. "That seems... so distant. Not sure how I feel about that, yet." A bright trill draws his attention over towards his bronze, who plants himself firmly for a long moment, considering this lair. Then, clearly unable to resist, he darts forward, snuffling into the dirt and quickly disappearing under that oh-so-baiting wing.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath takes in this whirlwind of images, fleeting bits of stories behind each mined and abandoned for what's available within them. << Good. >> The waterfall of contact seems to flow backward, upward, as he retreats, but it is largely illusory. << There is great pleasure in the hunt. And in flight. You must practice early, strengthen the muscles, if you hope to be -permitted- >> the term afforded a wry, ironic bent, << to take these liberties ahead of your clutchmates. >> Again, the haughty flicker of Valioth is presented, a jibing lure.
Valioth's eyes whirl faster, and he turns his head toward P'draig-- maybe he does know what they're talking about after all? But A'riste only states quietly, "That is not my ambition." He might stand proudly under the girl's regard, he might have been a prima-donna back at the Hall, but he has not yet set his ambitions so high. The difference, the sheer /distance/, between Mastersinger and Weyrleader is immense.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth turns all of this over and over. << P'rmitted. >> It's that one word that catches his bright interest, perhaps the only bit he really absorbs, and it puffs up into smoke and is brushed away by a gentle whisper of laughter. << Yeah? That's how's, then? P'rmitted? Whose t'stop me? >> Certainly not /Valioth/ - that is nudged away, but kept, stored for later, perhaps. << Once s'done, s'done. 'n we're meant to fly, yeah? >> A stretch of wheaten amber wings momentarily cloud vision, against the blue of the sky, the rustling wind.
"Mm. Might at that. Mikhuth or Valioth could wind up siring a clutch, or depending on how the world turns, one of you could wind up Weyrleader someday. ALl bronzeriders have to think about it, eventually. Be ready for it. Whether it's your ambition or not." And after dropping that bomb, P'draig straightens, eyeballing J'vran who has ... quite the mess in his lap and is holding his hand. Yep, he punched his finger. "Excuse me, looks like J'vran needs checking with - and maybe stitches if he's not lucky. I'll talk to you both later." And with that, Paddy's off.
Unsurprisingly, Imirath snaps down the wing, effectively trying to trap Mikhuth inside. Oh so casual, he lifts his head, faceted eyes whirling toward the intent-on-something-else Valioth, drawing attention to his 'captive, regardless of the clumsy weyrling nearby's messy state.
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath roils the concept about, an echo of 'permitteds' bouncing off of stone cavern walls, off of forge components, through valleys thick with reeds and standing water. << We are meant to fly, >> is reiterated, reinforced. << Who is to stop you? >> The repetition confirms Mikhuth's sentiments, rousing them with the allure of wingbeats against sunset, of spanning vistas and muscles tensed for flight.
"Maybe not your ambition, Aer, but... Who knows what'll happen? You can't really call Valioth off from a flight." Can he? D'kai shakes his head, but his attention is drawn as Mikhuth lets out a furious squeal, captured as he is under that pinning wing. "Awh, Mickey, you got yourself into that one!" He calls with a laugh. "No help here." And he shakes his head, turning back to A'riste. "And it's not like you couldn't be a Harper /and/ a Weyrleader?" But his voice is dubious, hinted with ill-concealed laughter as Mikhuth squirms and contorts and flattens himself in an attempt to squeeeeeze out from under Imirath's snare.
Valioth seems disinclined to be baited: let Mikhuth get himself out of this one, since he's so willingly gotten himself into it. His eyes whirl swiftly, though, with draconic laughter, as he can't help but look! A'riste begins to laugh himself (after a dismayed glance to the wounded weyrling, but that one's in good hands now!), soft and low, even as he shakes his head. "I don't know! Would I even have time? If it were Berit, I'd have no time to do anything but manage her. I'd never get a song in edgewise."
Imirath holds the spars down from the wingjoint, pressing harder against the furious efforts to quell them, or perhaps to encourage them. The indifference in his expression is repeated in the tranquil spinning of his eyes. This pin continues for a few moments, until he spies -it- in the distance: a lone herdbeast, wandering about the bowl and lowing softly, lost. A conundrum: free-range dinner, or torment the dragonet? In his distraction, his hold loosens, making it possible for the latter to wriggle free.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth softens that reverberation, wreathing himself in thick white smoke and bouncing the word right back at Imirath, though eventually allowing it to fade to a quivering, contemplative silence. << Dunno. >> And then, slowly, << 'll do that, then, yeah? >> But it's hesitant, questioning: is Mickey really to listen to the advice of this older bronze?
A-ha! And with that slight release Mikhtuh does squirm free and away, dancing backward a few paces, out of Imirath's reach. He rumbles dismay, craning his neck back up, but can't resist darting forward one last time to take a sharp swat at the bronze's forepaw, and then - whether it's landed or no - bounding back out of reach. "There, now, Mickey," D'kai chortles, "Learned your lesson, did you?" Maybe. But A'riste's comment has Deke's laughter, quick and bright. "Right you are, Aer. Maybe she'll settle down a bit once Zibeth's older?"
Dragon> To Mikhuth, Imirath draws back, relishing the silence and its misted, heavy thickness. << When you are ready, it will be time to fly. >> The adage is a refuge, a distant, disinterested commentary leaving the wheaten youth to his own devices to no fault of Imirath's own. As the dragonet is pinned coincides, << Action is good. Thought before action, better. >> With this, the touch withdraws, trickling bemused irritation at the swat, soon replaced by a burning hunger and the thrill of the hunt.
Valioth rumbles quietly, echoing A'riste's amusement. At Mikhuth? At Berit and Zibeth? "I don't know," chuckles his rider. "I don't envy... whichever man it is who catches her that task. If it's you, you've got my sympathies. Though I've seen her smile at you lately, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad."
The burnished bronze's wingtips flutter now, the talons at each closing reflexively in eagerness. So distracted, he's an easy target, but the batting wheaten bronze at below receives no retribution. Instead, Imirath leaps, startling the liberated herdbeast into an all out run. Taking abrupt leave of his companions, only a dust swirl is left behind. Apparently, they taste better if they're scared witless.
Dragon> To Imirath, Mikhuth fades away with the other's final touch with a gentle wisp of smoke, all the much wiser for the entrapment and lesson taught.
"Smile? At me?" D'kai lays his fingers light against his chest, surprise lifting his eyebrows. "If she has, I haven't seen it." But he does smile, and laugh as Mikhuth crouches against the little dustdevil resulting from Imirath's departure, and then slinks back towards his lifemate. "Welcome back, Mickey." Then, to A'riste: "I don't think a smile here or there would make her any less of a drea- ah, formidable weyrmate."
"She doesn't have to be your weyrmate even if you-- if he wins her flight," A'riste remarks. "Unless you both wanted it. I've been looking into these things... just in case." And he shudders.
"Just in case- well, you can't very well avoid these things for the rest of your life? Not the weyrmating," and D'kai nods, corrected. "But... flights. Golds. Greens." He waves a hand. "All that stuff."
A'riste's red-faced again, and waves a hand, too. "I'd be one of those men hurting whoever they'd be with, I'm sure of it! I've got no idea about... I mean..." And he shuts his mouth. (Is it even /normal/ for a bronzerider to admit that he's a virgin?) Valioth examines his face very intently.
"They... they advise you to, you know. Learn. Talk to people who might can, er, experience you before you - hurt anyone. Or so I've heard. That's not something you can have... /explained/ to you, you know." As well A'riste likely does! Does D'kai really need to explain that? We've all heard that attempted before! The lad flushes slightly, unsure of how to quite follow this strain of conversation. "That's- not usual, Aer. I wouldn't be too worried about it." Easy enough to say!
A'riste folds his arms, and eyes the dirt; his admirer's completely forgotten. "Um," he says quite intelligently. "Yeah. Have, um. Have you, uh...? I mean, you seem to, well. Not be a complete idiot around, uh. Stuff."
D'kai scuffs at that dirt, almost - but not quite - as intelligible as A'riste when he repeats the word 'stuff' once or twice and then shrugs, a bit red-faced. "Yeah. Gathers, uh, visits to the Hold. Nothing... special, like they say. Nothing magical." And then he looks to Mikhuth, perhaps for encouragement, but the bronze is too busy scuffling about in the dust to pay his rider any attention.
Valioth then noses at Mikhuth: is the other bronze okay after being trapped in a cavernous wing? A'riste just mutters, "...Oh. Well. Uh. Yeah."
Mickey rumbles an affirmative in response, flipping his wings to his back and straightening - quite okay, thank you! Deke snorts, moves as if to bump at A'riste's shoulder, then thinks the better of it and crosses his arms, too, across his chest. "Uh," he repeats, "yeah. It wasn't - just some - girls. I don't know." Not much to add to that, and D'kai falls silent, a bit awkwardly.
A'riste considers, and then completes the movement. Bump! He looks away, suddenly amused by it all. "Yeah." Valioth rumbles, and then inspects Mikhuth, and then seems pleased. Maybe he's trying to be conciliatory? << You got his paw, didn't you? >>
Quite pleased: << Did. Ye saw, then? >> Mikhuth preens for a bit, but the motion is interrupted by a sudden twitch. The bronze turns wide eyes onto D'kai, who nods. "Well -" with a bit of a grin for A'riste as he brushes his hands off of invisible dust. "- Mickey's needing to be oiled. I'll see you around, then, yeah?" And with that he heads off, Mikhuth sharp on his heels.
"...Yeah," A'riste says softly, again, as he watches the other pair go. Quietly, he turns back to fix Valioth's straps. "See you."