Log: Weyrling Lesson: Projection
Who: T'hon, R'lashi, R'us, S'kris, Lindith, Griseth, Wrencath, Enryth
When: day 31, month 5, Turn 6 of the Tenth Interval.
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy leads the Weyrlings through some projection practice a la messenger. T'hon sticks around after class for some questions.
Fort Weyr Bowl, by the weyrling barracks
The Bowl of Fort Weyr, a large, nearly featureless plain surrounded by steep mountain cliffs, stretches out before you. It is vaguely oval in shape, long from the southwest to the northeast; you are standing near the wall northwest of its center. To the west is a cavern, carved into the cliffside, where newly-Impressed dragonriders live with their young dragons before they have been fully trained. When they join a regular fighting Wing, the young riders are ready to inhabit weyrs of their own.
To the south is the fenced off area where the Weyr's herds are kept. Along the north rim of the bowl, to the east of here, are the junior queens and weyrleaders weyrs, and the entrance to the Hatching ground. The center of the bowl, off which is the entrance to the large living caverns, stretches out to the southeast.
"Form up in a semi-circle!" P'draig calls out, having gathered together a group of Weyrlings who are not otherwise occupied in practice with other weyrlingmaster assistants. "We're going to do a little bit of projection practice today!" Behind him Jekzith warbles bright greetings to the young ones.
R'lashi walks over to find a spot in the crecent, Enryth tottering right up behind him. He raises his hand and calls out to P'draig, "Do you want us to stand next to our dragons, or what?" Enryth's eyes whirl a cool blue as he nudges R'lashi's hand gently with his muzzle.
S'kris moves up to join the others, Wrencath sticking close by his side. "Yes, sir!", the young man calls, taking a position between R'lashi and another weyrling pair. Both look curious and the young dragon begins to fidget a little in place, all but wiggling in anticipation.
"Please do R'lashi - in pairs around where Jekzith and I are. Try to stay evenly spaced, at least arm's distance apart," he explains further.
Spacing himself out a little further from S'kris, R'lashi and Enryth take their places, and R'lashi gives a short salute to P'draig, "All ready, sir."
"All right, once you're ready, here's what's going to happen, I'm going to think of something and pass it to Jekzith, who will then pass it to the first dragon on this end of the circle," he points to the end nearest his right side. "The dragon will pass it to his or her rider, the rider will whisper it to the next weyrling that weyrling will pass it to his or her dragon. The last dragon/weyrling pair will state out loud, what was passed to them and we'll see what we get on the other end!"
R'lashi jumps excitedly, "That sounds like great fun!" He then resumes his original position, ready to get the game underway.
S'kris nods solemnly to P'draig, then shoots a look at Wrencath. "No exaggerating, y'hear? There's a time and place for everything, and this probably isn't it.", he whispers, giving the bronze a reassuring muzzle rub. "Sounds like a mighty fine idea, sir.", is spokent louder, for P'draig's benefit.
P'draig claps his hands together and turns towards S'kris on the nearer end of the circle. "All right, I'm going to give something to Jekzith and he'll pass it to Wrencath, who will pass it to you and then you whisper it to R'lashi and it'll make it's way around to T"hon over there." So saying P'draig falls silent and Jekzith cocks his head to the side as if actually 'listening' to what P'draig is coming up with, he lets out a soft breet before hunkering down and concentraing on conveying what's in his mind to Wrencath.
T'hon can't quite hide a laugh at something his dragon has said. "No, they're not already trusting us with responsibility," he replies to his dragon. Griseth shakes out his wings, settles down to lounge in the bowl and waits to hear whatever it is he's supposed to hear. T'hon, on the other hand, tries to catch the whispers, to boost his chances of success.
Jekzith> Jekzith visualizes a platter set with food, small items made with pastry, their tops oozing sweet juices, redolent of sweetener and spices and speaks the following message: << After class there will be bubbly pies for all Weyrlings. Pass it on. >>'.
Wrencath seems to catch the message alright, eyes spinning a bright shade of blue as he swings his head toward S'kris. He relays the message with an excited-sounding rumble and a happy bounce, then hastily headbutts the young man toward R'lashi. "I'm moving!", Soka drawls softly, then leans to whisper something in R'lashi's ear.
R'lashi gets the message from S'kris, tyring his best to commit what was just said to memory. His eyes glaze a little as he rethinks of what was just said to his Enryth.
P'draig watches the proceedings with a serious enough mien, though a smile might just be threatening at the corner of his mouth. "Concentrate on providing clear details as you pass it along, fuzzy projection leads to fuzzy messages," notes the brownrider.
Imali has connected.
S'kris looks suspiciously at Wrencath for a moment, but is answered with a soft, innocent-sounding warble. He reaches up and rubs a little on the young dragon's eyeridges, looking down the line to see how the message is progressing.
T'hon gives a sharp look to his dragon, who has a distinct air of 'That's what he *said*' about him. Sighing, he says to P'draig, "Griseth tells me that Enryth told *him* that after class we'll be doing something with boiling berries. Big ones. Apparently, Griseth saw a berry the size of a mountain." He gives P'draig a wary eye. "How far off is that?"
P'draig covers his mouth, eyes twinkling. "Oh did he then?" he spins around slowly and walks back around the semi-circle. He doesn't stop at Enryth though, but rather right at the beginning near Wrencath. "Just how big was this berry then?" he asks, trying so hard to look serious, and utterly failing.
Wrencath manages to look completely innocent, but S'kris' torn between laughing and shaking his head with dismay, so he just does both. "Oh, /now/ you've done it. Wrencath, just /what/ did you say?" The bronze maintains his innocence, sharing with the group at large in vivid tones of berry blue, << Hey! *I* didn't say it was a berry! It was just a huge pastry-goo-filled-thing- >>, here, he inserts the image of a bubbly pie, large enough to feed a Weyr, << and it was *huge* and there were giant rivers of that bubbling hot stuff and there were Weyrlings approaching it, but they were cut off by the river and they had to cross it to get there because they were starving ... well, that's what it *was*, honest! >>
Jekzith 's eyes sparkle brightly at Wrencath's vivid imagery. << That looks very delicious Wrencath! But that is not what I sent you! >> P'draig meantime is having a harder time not laughing now. "I see. Well then this is our first lesson in accuracy in projecting. Just imagine if that had been a clump of Thread you were talking about instead of a bubbly pie, Wrencath ... S'kris ..." he's more and more serious the more he speaks. "Ah, R'us, Lindith, do join us, we'll do a second round and this time Wrencath, try to stick to what's been sent to you, okay? The idea is to pass this as accurately as possible from one end of the line to the other."
Lindith picks her way out of the barracks, tilting her slender head up toward the sky the moment she's cleared the entrance. "They're all out here," R'us remarks with sullen gracelessness, surly a bit to be for even a moment less interesting to the long-limbed lady than the sky upon which her upward eye whirls so intently. "C'mon, we're missing something," the new greenrider adds, begging his companion's attention with a sweet hand upon her jawline, fingers admiring the curve there in an intimate plead. Lindith lets go of her mesmerized stare at the sky long enough to realize the line of weyrlings going through whatever exercise is being led and, unwilling to be left out, finally assents to be led into place somewhere among the others.
R'lashi shakes his head, laughing lightly at Wrencath's plight, starting to feel a little hungry himself. Enryth trys to reply to Wrencath, but ends up accidentally broadcasting his thoughts to all << Always thinking with your stomach, eh? At least it wasn't a meat storm this time. >> The tone does not come across as cutting or hurtful, but sarcastic and joking. R'lashi turns and scolds his dragon quietly, "That wasn't very nice, you may have hurt his feelings, ya know?" There's a slight pause, then << Sorry Wrencath >>.
Fizzle *pop* go Wrencath's images, disintegrating into a watery shower of pale yellow sparks. << Well, that's what it *should* have been. Sorry, Jekzith. >> Likewise, the bronze settles to the ground with a bit of a disheartened jiggle, muzzle pointed directly at the ground. He doesn't say anything right away, although S'kris blurts, "And, no, there are to wherries to blame it on! Just pass it straight from Jekzith to me this time, okay? At least you can make the images /look/ good. Terribly sorry, sir. We'll try harder this time." There's a discontented whuffle from the young dragon, a response finally finding its way threaded to Enryth, << The meat storm *was* there, though. I remember. >>
P'draig claps his hands together. "All right, all right, pull it together everyone, let's try it again and see if you can get the message right this time. Trust me, you -want- to get this one," he grins. "We'll start with Wrencath again and give him another chance all right S'kris?"
<< Meat storm? >> Lindith's lean head tilts up again, her whirling eye upon Wrencath now. No pleading petting from her rider will have her attention back in full this time; her focus is on this idea, a swirling twister of ovines still wooly and unbutchered among slabs of steak and even a few of the grilled ribs the silly humans burn before eating. Wind and food: a delightful combination, to her swirling young mind, and already exhausted even before the game begins R'us leans against the green's side with a sigh and asks the next weyrling in line, a bit morose, "What're we s'posed to do?"
Enryth starts twitching like a runner with a fly on it's back. << Gah! Itchy! >> R'lashi turns to Enryth, "Now? Well, guess I'll have to go oil him up. Sorry to have to leave at a time like this. Bye!" R'lashi runs into the barracks to go grab himself a pot of oil, Enryth trotting quickly behind him.
T'hon thumps Griseth affectionately on his shoulder blade. "No, you didn't do anythin' wrong. You reported what ye saw, an' that's always right. Now c'mon, P'draig says we get t' have another chance."
S'kris nods firmly to P'draig. "We'll try again, sir." Then, aside, "You'll do fine this time, Wrencath, particularly since you /do/ have such a keen way of showing things." Slightly more encouraged the young dragon lifts his head and warbles a bit, swivelling his head at the image Lindith seems to share. << Exactly! A meat storm, just like that! Er. >>, he's called back to attention with a light thump delivered to his foreleg by Soka. "C'mon, now. This is important."
P'draig only waves a hand acknowledgeing R'lashi's departure. Itches in dragonets this young must be attended to. He continues on with the projection practice with the remaining group. "Jekzith and I have passed an image and a message to Wrencath who then passed it to S'kris, we're about to start over passing the same message down the line, each dragon passes it to the next dragon, the dragon to his or her weyrling, the weyrling to the the next weyrling, to the next dragon, and so on," he explains for R'us and Lindith's benefit. "Indeed, T'hon's right, you only pass what you see, but you need to attempt to retain that and pass it on as well as you can."
Lindith's long neck arches, her wings reflexively flickering along her sides as if their sails might brush off itches of her own. << Come back soon, Enryth; we must learn how to make a meat storm. >> Wrencath, having turned his attention somewhat to the task at hand, has lost a little of the slender green's delicate focus. And then Enryth, leaving, loses that focus as well, and she tips her muzzle right up toward the sky, backing up onto her hindquarters, jostling R'us from his lean in her efforts to get closer without any forbidden flapping. "Hey, hey, precious, we'll get there," says the rough-edged lad, stretching up a hand to tug gently at limed necksails. "I promised I'd bring you out later, all right? Just us?" Hissing a whisper now, R'us' face flushes a bit. "C'mon, listen. We're playing messenger, only weird."
Wrencath wiggles his rump a little, growing more and more fidgety as he awaits the image. "Calm down, you.", S'kris whispers with a smile, reaching over to rub his lifemate's shoulder. "You'll get the message soon enough and then you'll pass to me, got it?" The bronze whuffles a bit, then looks expectantly at Jekzith.
Jekzith resends the same image as before, this time drawn even more clearly for Wrencath, and accompanies it with the same words. "Here we go," says Paddy, grinning around the circle. "Let's see if you get it this time - if it's right, then you have permission to disband and pursue that message."
Intent on getting it *right* this time, Wrencath takes the image and passes it along to S'kris with an eager warble this time. It takes the young man a moment or two to make sure it's the /right/ image, then he heads down to the nearest weyrling down the way, who's quick to pass the message along to R'us.
R'us startles at the approach of the weyrling, but tips his head willingly enough to hear the message. His eyes widen and, after a moment trying to confirm what he's heard simply by goring a stare through the other lad, he flips his bangs back with a toss of his head and turns to Lindith to convey the word. Or try. She resettles on her rear haunches, forelegs pawing a bit at the ground, knees bending and unbending in awkward twitches as she 'listens,' then arches her neck toward the next weyrling dragon in line to pass on the content for carrying on toward T'hon at the line's end.
P'draig paces around the circle, waiting patiently for the outcome. "Focus," he reminds the group.
Griseth gives Jezkith ande Wrenceth an unsure look, as his tail flops, displaying his ambiguity about this one. Not his thing. But dutifully he reports to T'hon, who blinks. "Are you sure?" Griseth is sure. "Well, ok then." He looks to P'draig. "Griseth shows me a big ol' platter of food, like it might be silver or some such, a bit posh too. An' th' food looks like it might be sweets, an' that we can have 'em after lessons." He shakes his head, smiling. "I wonder how close we got *this* time."
This time, P'draig gives a thumbs up. "All right. Much better. Yes, there's a platter of bubbly pies waiting for you in the Weyrlingmaster's office. They -were- hot when I put them in there earlier, but they've probably cooled since. I'll go get them and we can share them with the rest of the Weyrlings! Good work today. Please try to practice this sort of thing casually when you're together in small groups, between lessons, or before you go to sleep at night, to sharpen your projection and communication skills." Jekzith sits up and bugles his approval in the background and noses towards the young dragons, offering congratulations to each one.
S'kris is probably more relieved than Wrencath from the way his shoulders slump and his eyes slide shut. "There, see? That wasn't so awful, was it?", he says after a moment. "I'll get some meat for you, since you can't share any of the bubblies. Ah, and thank you, sir, for the lesson and the pies." There's a longsuffering sigh from the young dragon, who settles fully on the ground with a soft *whump*. He cranes his head around to peer at Lindith, then at Griseth just beyond, before his attention finally settles on happy thoughts of meat, and meat-based bubbly-pies.
Lindith sweeps her neck back around so her head bolts her rider in the ribs, cutting short R'us whoop of triumph with a cough. "-I- like them. They're sweet and, uh, pieish." Dubious whirls of contented azure float through the margarita green of the young dragon's eyes, which she then lifts skyward again in the best approximation she can make of rolling them. Her rider rolls his in turn, right back at her, then seems to notice her all over again through his uplifted gaze and reaches a hand out to stroke her shoulder. "I keep telling you, we can't eat the same things." But Lindith's attention has drifted back to the sky, with a side dish of Wrencath's portly shape, and R'us is left to offer P'draig a sloppy salute. "Yeah, thanks. Uh, sir. And um. I had a - oh. Never mind."
"Actually, I don't see how one pie could hurt, S'kris - Wrencath really did try hard to pass that message along," says Paddy gently. "Besides, they're so small compared to him it'd be barely a taste." He shrugs once and gestures towards the Barracks. "Shall I bring them out to you here? We can all take a break then, before the last chores of the evening start and curfew. If any of you have any questions about this practice or anything else that's going on, feel free to ask and you can consider this 'at ease' time."
T'hon turns to Griseth, who gives him an 'ewwwww, gross!' look. He grins to P'draig. "Guess it'll be just one for me, then. Griseth don't seem too fond of sweet things. But then again, he ain't all that fond of what he calls 'my things' as opposed to 'his things'. Kinda black an' white thinkin', if you ask me, but then, he's still got a lot t' learn 'bout th' world.
S'kris looks dubiously -- though hopeful -- at P'draig. "Are you sure? It won't make him sick or anything? I suspect that'd be a very good thing indeed, then, if it's just one. He would rather appreciate that. This exercise was rather ... interesting. Will we be doing it rather more often as time goes by?" Obviously. Because at the merest whiff of him getting a bubbly, Wrencath's attention snaps from images of meat-pies to berry-pies and his whole hefty self starts to wiggle with glee. << Oh! Look, Jekzith! I get one of those things, now. Have you ever had one? I bet they taste better than meat. >>, of course, his attempts at keeping this on a private channel are flawed, and they spill out into a general query for the group.
"I had a question," R'us finishes glumly, just above a whisper, shoulders rounding in a slump now that he's 'at ease'. Lindith pauses in her eyeing of Wrencath to flip her tail in an awkward effort at a curl 'round her weyrling's feet, resulting in sending the lad leaping and hopping so as not to be tripped up. << Maybe we should try a pie storm, >> she muses, perfectly content to be included in other dragons' private conversation by accident. As if it's pretty much her right to be, in fact. << We could all beat our wings and maybe there would be enough wind. >> Glinting mischief shines in swirling eyes.
"Yes, we'll be practicing this again in this form and in others, good communication skills are critical for dragonriders and dragons." So saying P'draig vanishes for a few minutes, before returning with that platter of promised sweeties. "They're still ... kinda warm, but not hot like they were about an hour ago," he says wryly. "Ah well, they should still be good." He sets the platter down on a flattish-topped rock, to serve as an impromptu picnic table. "Help yourselves. And only one for any dragonets who want to try them," he cautions. << I have tried many things that mine makes. But I do like fresh meat the best. >> "Ask away," Paddy notes to R'us, and flops down on the ground as if he were still a Weyrling himself, a bubbly clasped in one hand, staining his fingers purple.
Imali has been sitting down in the shadows, watching the whole time since Keevin had let her go for th enight. Freshly bathed and smelling much better, she had been sitting there watching their lesson the whole time. "Much better." She calls out, standing up and coming out of the shadows. "Wrencath, do you have to wriggle so? It's so undignified for you." She reamrks, moving over to them. "P'draig, splendid job. ALl of you, you did much better."
T'hon leaves Griseth behind and heads to the platter and takes a bubbly pie. He fully intends to eat it without any mind, but Griseth suddenly sits up and gives T'hon a demanding look. Chagrined, T'hon lowers the pie away from his mouth and grins, a little sheepishly. "Anybody got a spoon? Griseth seems t' think that just crammin' it int' my mouth all at once ain't . . . er, . . . nice."
S'kris jogs over to pick up a pair of bubblies, lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary before finally taking a seat next to Wrencath again. "I'm sure they're fine, sir; it's worse when they're so hot they blister your mouth." His nose wrinkles and he turns to offer the bubbly to Wrencath's already gaping maw. In goes the bubbly and then it's gone, just like that. << I don't think a storm made of pies would be so good, Lindith. That'd be a really bad waste of pies. You should try one! >> S'kris munches away on his bubbly, glancing over at R'us when the young man has a question. One eyebrow quirks up, but he doesn't say anything. T'hon's question, on the other hand, elicits, "Er, well, no, I don't. But bubblies are meant to be eaten barehanded like this."
"Spoon? Nope," says Paddy and jerks his thumb towards the Barracks. On the sideboard in there where the snacks usually are," he explains. Then he fixes Imali with a long stare then rises to his feet. "A word Imali," he says in a rather flat tone, crooking his finger at the former Candidate as he steps somewhat to the side from the rest of the group.
Imali stares at P'draig. "Yes?" She asks softly, stepping near him.
R'us pauses, looking torn. Lindith has no interest in the pies, though watching Wrencath's interest seems to keep her focus; still, she's not going to trawl her lanky self over there and deign to taste them. But P'draig is there with one in hand. It's ridiculous, really, that the greenling apparently feels the need to reach out and hug his Lindith before separating himself all of eight feet from her, but so he does and this thing is done. Then he's there at the weyrlingmaster's side, taking up one of the pies to pick at it while observing, "You could kinda pull it apart into little pieces, T'hon," like he himself is going to try to do, dropping crumbs on his shoes. "Um, sir, I had a question about, uh," Oops, Imali first. R'us backs up and focuses on the pie, pretending like he can't hear. Not very well.
P'draig speaks in a hushed tone, not meant for the others to overhear, but he's dead serious as he speaks, eyes fixed firmly on Imali's face He mutters to Imali, "... you... to... such... one you... They're entirely... for... that... hear and if... entire Barracks might... I... stressing the... Please... your comments... have... you steer... a..."
Imali senses "P'draig speaks in a hushed tone, not meant for the others to overhear, but he's dead serious as he speaks, eyes fixed firmly on Imali's face "I'll thank you kindly to keep remarks such as the one you just made to S'kris and Wrencath to yourself. They're entirely inappropriate for a dragon that young to hear and if he gets upset by you, the entire Barracks might pay. I can't have you stressing the dragonets out. Please watch your comments when you're about the Weyrlings and the dragonets otherwise I'll have to ask that you steer clear of them until they're a bit older."
T'hon sighs, glancing from Griseth to the office, and deciding that a utensil isn't really all that necessary. HE gives Griesth the affectionate explaination that "sometimes, human foods ain't meant t' be eaten all nice an' neat," and apparently drops into a mental, non-vocal explanation of 'hunting' and its required messiness. Griseth, shocked, decides to get others opinions, showing them what T'hon just said, essentially, a picture of an adult brown dragon swooping low over a terrified heardbeast and then killing it, afterwards feeding on it. That is not a neat process. << < Will we really do this? >> >
Imali winces. She speaks softly too. "I'm sorry, P'draig, I just didn't realize that he would take offense." She whispers softly. "I'll try to keep my comments to myself sir, I really will." her face clearly says that too be forced away from her friends would be /terrible/.
Wrencath delights in Griseth's image, embellishing it with extra herdbeasts and with the brown dragon -- well, now a bronze one -- flaming the poor beast to a crisp before eating it. He stops the flow of images, rewinds it, then adds larger herdbeasts, and some funny little 'splat' sound effects when the beast is trounced instead of flamed. << It looks like it'll be fun, Griseth! I bet they do make funny splat noises when we land on them, too. >> Imali's comment from previously must've gone unnoticed, or at least deflected by this new game of 'create an image'. S'kris? Still busy with his bubbly, apparently caught up in sharing Wrencath's creative outburst.
P'draig nods. "You have to be careful around young dragons, slow and steady, all right? Now come have a bubbly," invites Paddy and he ushers Imali back over to the group. << Oh yes! >> replies Jekzith to Griseth. << It is so good and such fun! >>
<< I certainly hope we will, >> Lindith absently reports, lifting her muzzle again to the sky, tasting her own 'lips' with a flicker of a dark veridian tongue. << I hope to eat the feathery ones, >> neither 'hunt' nor 'wherry' yet part of her vocabulary. << Perhaps by eating them I will learn more about things with wings. >> Like herself; her sails rustle against her sides, impatient already for their purpose. Meanwhile, R'us eats a bubbly by means of picking it apart in his fingertips, lifting wet globs of berry-goo to his mouth one bite after another. As P'draig returns he stuffs the last bit into his mouth, glomp chomp, and through it says, "I hab a bestshun sir?"
"Ask away R'us, when your mouth is clear," replies P'draig, resuming his seat and popping more pie into his mouth.
Imali shakes her head at P'draig, thne, taking a bubbly, edges over to Sok- uh, s'kris. "Sorrya bout that comment?"
T'hon wipes his hands clean on his pants, for any lack of washing water. He'll just clean them later. Griseth, noticing that, manages to give off embarassed vibes. Of course, ever since T'hon first cleaned him off, he's been fastidious about his own personal cleanliness. He settles down much like a canine, awaiting whatever will come next.
R'us sucks the berry goo off of a finger. Slup. "I was gonna ask, sir, if there's a limit to who all we should be saluting and stuff to. I mean, I was taught at Harper that you say 'sir' and 'ma'am' to dragonriders, or call them by title, just outta respect for what they did," awkward beat, "er, do, unless you have a name and they let you use it." Hurrying on past tiny faux pas: "And I know we're outranked by all the other riders so it's pretty much the same now, but what do I call a harper now if I see one?" It is surely completely happenstance that Lindith sighs preciously, then slinks over and noses curiously at Wrencath. << Are you going to try one or not? >>
S'kris is about halfway done with his bubbly -- so, he's a slow eater -- and pauses when Imali approaches. "Ah, well, he can't help it any, Imali. You're just lucky he forgot about it when he did, otherwise he might've really been upset." He turns an affectionate smile to Wrencath and gives the nearest bit of his dragon a quick rub. "So, just mind your manners next time and don't say something that might make him fretful." Wrencath's attention is now on Lindith, his mindvoice an eager smattering blue on yellow, << Hey, do you really think that'll work? I mean, eating the feathered and flying things to learn how to fly better? But that'd be kind of hard to do without removing those feathery bits, because you might choke on them and get sick. >> Pause. << Try one what? >>
Imali sighs. "I keep on forgetting at how young and precious, and sensitive they are."
"When in doubt, sir or ma'am, but you should know ranks from knots and if you don't, I'd suggest making a study of it, because you should address all by rank and or title," notes P'draig. "As for saluting ... I ... the Weyrlingmaster will be lecturing on etiquette shortly." Paddy looks momentarily disconcerted by the question, his own inexperience in the position showing, << They are good, aren't they? Pies are good but I still like meat better, >> notes Jekzith, uninterested in the topic of human conversation. << As for wherries ... they're kind of stringy to my taste. You might like fish though Lindith. >> He casts up an image of a deep sea fish, large and fleet.
T'hon is distracted from Griseth, and shushes him. "Saluting? Er." He pauses. "Maybe you could tell us where them records are that tell which knot means which rank an' all, 'cause I know I don't know all that I oughta. Back home, Harper used t' come around a few times a turn, but mostly, th' schoolin' was 'bout readin' an' writin' an' all, not knots an' ranks an' whatnot. An' . . . ok, maybe I'm th' only one, but I dunno how t' salute."
"I... I know 'em." R'us scuffs and leans sideways to snare another pie, something to busy his fingers with while replying to the weyrlingmaster they have right now, even if the lad gives the man a bit of a shy grin in recognizing someone else a bit out of his depth. "I just forget to look. And to think about it. But thanks, sir." Another bite of pie, while Lindith impatiently reminds Wrencath, << -Those,- >> with a strong sense of borrowed berry-flavor and pie-texture from her lifemate; no need has she to eat one of the unmeat things herself. Jezkith's direct address swirls her focus, however, and after a moment she turns her slender head up and looks up, up and up, at the grown brown. << Fish, >> she echoes, looking for understanding of the word while her wings flicker along her sides.
"Actually, there's a uh ... board in the Barracks you can use T'hon," notes Paddy. "I'll find it for you and set it up so you and anybody else who needs a review can see it. Salutes are supposed to be covered in that lecture, but if you want some practice now, I can show you," he offers, grinning a blue-toothed smile.
S'kris just nods to Imali, but by then she's already gone. Much, in fact, like his bubbly seems to have vanished, the last few bites eaten without his full awareness. Wrencath looks rather morose at this, finally swinging his attention back to Lindith with, << Oh! Hey, yeah, I already ate mine, see? >> to which he opens his mouth rather more widely than necessary to reveal that he ate /all/ of it, save for a smidgen of purple that still lingers on his tongue. << Very sweet, but I liked it a lot. My S'kris likes sweet berry-things, too. Oh, I hope I get to try some of those hard sweet-things he has. >> There's a pause, while S'kris stares at the bronze, communicating something which is promptly relayed with an indignant, << Or he would have if he didn't give them all to that ... that person he knows! >> The mention of fish distracts him well enough, as he takes the image and gives it an unnecessary number of fins and a huge, fangy mouth. << Do the look like this, too? >>
Griseth replies with interest. << I am sure we will be able to overcome any threat, even if they do look like Wrencath's image. After all, when we grow to be as large as Jezkith, we will have nothing to fear. Nothing is as large as we will become.>>
<< Oh yes. There are some like that, >> Jekzith confirms Wrencath's oddly accurate image of a certain fish that's not commonly seen closer to shore. << Mostly though, we find these. >> He draws in intricate detail a yellowfin, in all its glory, accompanied by a sense of the succulent flavor of the raw fish meat, the satisfying crunch of bones. P'draig meanwhile is getting to his feet to do a saluting demonstration. "You stand at attention, feet together, shoulders back and -snap-," he brings his arm up in a sharp salute, holds, and drops it. "Wanna try?" By the minute he's just seeming like another young rider and less like the weyrlingmaster assistant he's supposed to be. Someone might just get in trouble later for it.
<< Person he knows? >> "Hey, what's that about?" R'us, catching some small tidbit of Lindith's conversation, whips a stare at S'kris with the unerring accuracy of the surly schoolboy who envies the rival smooth-talker. But as the lime-hued green lifts up on her stick-thin legs and at last gives her wings the singular, lengthy stretch they so seem to need, arching her spars to better show off the youngling hues of her developing sails, something about her rider's demeanor darkens from curious-jealous to darkly disturbed. "Uh," he observes over a picked-apart bit of pie. "I think I'm gonna go oil somebody. Wouldn't you like that, baby? Some nice oil and I'll tell you about caprines. They're small, like wherry but not feathery." He sleeks a berry-stained hand up along his young green's shoulder, and she lifts her head to nose at his ear. Smug for no good reason whatsoever, R'us gives S'kris a -look- -- so there! -- and leads his lifemate off into the barracks.
T'hon gives a grateful smile to P'draig. "Thanks. Here I been worryin' 'bout stuff an' now I can just go an' look." He follows P'draig's movements with his eyes, then nods, and tries to imitate. Everything goes well until he tries to snap his arm up, and misses by a mile, staggering off balance. "Heh, heh . . .er . . ." His half-hearted attempt to laugh it off trails away, and the tips of his ears turn red.
Watching R'us go with a slight frown, Paddy drags his attention back to the saluting demonstration. "Um ... right, plant the rest of your body firmly so you don't ... go all off-balance," he says and approaches T'hon. "Is it okay ?" he asks, hand hovering over the other young man's lower back, waiting for permission to correct his posture.
Wrencath looks singularly confused over the whole ordeal, both the fish and Lindith's rider's reaction, the events blurring somewhat in his mind. He presses his muzzle questioningly into Soka's side. "He-ey, now. Don't you worry, I'll tell you all about my friends later, I /assure/ you. And never you mind how /he/ acts, either. I fancy he just isn't too terribly friendly with most people. He was like that before Lindith took a shine to him.", this all said in a low, even voice, explanatory without being rude. S'kris finally stands, reaching down to give that dish-shaped muzzle a loving rub. "Ah ... well, no, I also don't truly think your display of fish with Jekzith scared- ... oh, I suspect we should." To P'draig, "Thank you, sir, for the bubblies -- and that's from both of us. They were delicious, of course." That said, the two head into the barracks as well.
T'hon gives a wary eye to P'draig, suddenly remembering the more wild and lurid stories about weyrfolk -- dragonriders in particular. Griseth, picking up on his young riders unease, comes to full attention and stands, looming a little bit, trying to be intimidating. "Er. You want t' teach me how t' salute, I guess I better learn." And from Griesth, a stern << Do not hurt him >>.
P'draig catches the expression and chuckles softly. "Piper's weyrmate," he says simply, to dispel any of that and just lightly applies pressure to firm up the Weyrling's lower back and a little across the abdomen and then his hands are gone. "Keep tucked in from the back and the front," he scoots one foot out nudging T'hon's stance a bit closer together. "Rock solid from toes to nose," he chants almost. "Bring your arm out smoothly, and up, touch finger tips to temple, and back out again." He guide the appropriate arm, then drops it, and adopts the stance himself, demonstrating.
T'hon looks around him, eyes practically crossing as he tries to follow P'draig. Soon, though, he nods. "I think I got it. Let me try again." Determindly, T'hon sets himself up again, chanting 'nose to toes' under his breath, and gives a passable salute. He grins, while Griseth croons his own approval. "Hey, I did it."
Standing back to observe now, P'draig nods a few times. "There you go, practice, practice, practice, because you'll need to start saluting the Weyrlingmaster and me and Acadia and Lexiana end of this seven-day and all of the rest of the Weyrstaff as soon as your Barracks restriction is lifted and you get visitors."
T'hon nods. "Speakin' of which. . . oh yeah, eh, sir, s'pose I gotta ask, 'cause Griseth's been on my case a little 'bout it all -- when d' we get t' leave th' barracks an' this part of th' bowl? He's just dyin' t' go further an' discover more, an' I can't keep tellin' him it's for his own good t' stay here."
.
"I ... think you can go to the lake - they're going to need regular bathing soon. But um ... I'll have to check with the Weyrlingmaster," replies Paddy slowly, a hint of pink in his cheeks. "I uh ... this is my first time helping out with Weyrlings," he confesses and scratches at his head looking a bit sheepish. "I'm sort of learning the ropes a bit too at least, with the order of the training and all. Not you know, being a dragonrider!" he flusters through that, then looks over at Jekzith who is crooning at him reassuringly. The big brown slides on over and nudges P'draig gently. "Yeah, I know, I know, probably shouldn't have said. Anyway, I meant it, if you guys have questions or anything, or concerns, my ears are open."
T'hon smiles. "Well, we'll be new t'gether, I guess. No shame in bein' new at somethin', or so I'm told, time an' again." He grins. "Gotta start somewhere." But as the rest of the dragons go back into the barracks and Griseth settles back down and closes his eyes, T'hon chews his lower lip a little. "C'n I ask you somethin', P'draig?"
"Nah, no shame in it, but there's gaps in what I can and can't tell you ... y'know, formally. Other stuff ..." he shrugs. "I can talk to you a blue streak 'bout being a brownrider!" He grins and then nods. "Ask away ..." he waves a hand broadly and perches on a rock, cross-legged, nursing another bubbly pie. Jekzith curls around the rock, watching with azure eyes, a solid, comforting presence one hopes.
T'hon shrugs. "Just wonderin' how long it took ya t' get used t' all of this," he says. "Havin' somebody in yer head all th' time, bein' responsible for yer dragon when ye ain't ever been responsible for anybody ever before, bein' tossed in head first -- I guess I'm just hopin' it gets easier."
P'draig blows out a long breath. "Weeeell, it's different for me. I'm Weyrbred, see. Been around dragons all my life. All of my parents are riders ..." explains P'draig. "But yeah ... having someone else in your brainpan, no matter how used to dragons you are, is ... different. I'd say it took a good Turn before I figured things out with Jekzith and another Turn after that before it felt like ... things had always been this way. I can't honestly remember now what it was like, NOT to have him in my head."
T'hon shakes his head. "Well, I guess I'll just hafta give it time then. I dunno. I ain't weyrbred an' there's a lot t' get used to. But I'm sure I can handle it -- Griseth wouldn'ta picked me if I couldn't cope."
'Exactly, just keep at it, and it'll come along eventually. This first week that's what it's all about ... getting used to each other. It's why we kind of keep you off by yourselves for a while. It's not that we want you to be isolated, it's more that you need that cushion between you and the res tof the world, to adjust, have space to yourselves while you figure out who you are together."
T'hon nods, thinking. "Well, we'll see. Anyhow. I gotta give Griseth his last feed afore bedtime, an' I gotta go get myself a bath before *I* hit th' sack, so if I can get him up an' t' his couch, guess I oughta be gettin' there. Thanks, P'draig, for th' pies an' all."
"Good plan T'hon, good plan ... and I need to find Piper, and tell her in no uncertain terms to get -her- hide into bed," grins P'draig. "I'll see you bright and early Weyrling," he concludes more formally, tosses off another salute, and then slowly strolls across the Bowl, while Jekzith silently takes off and wings his way to Faldaverth's ledge.
When: day 31, month 5, Turn 6 of the Tenth Interval.
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy leads the Weyrlings through some projection practice a la messenger. T'hon sticks around after class for some questions.
Fort Weyr Bowl, by the weyrling barracks
The Bowl of Fort Weyr, a large, nearly featureless plain surrounded by steep mountain cliffs, stretches out before you. It is vaguely oval in shape, long from the southwest to the northeast; you are standing near the wall northwest of its center. To the west is a cavern, carved into the cliffside, where newly-Impressed dragonriders live with their young dragons before they have been fully trained. When they join a regular fighting Wing, the young riders are ready to inhabit weyrs of their own.
To the south is the fenced off area where the Weyr's herds are kept. Along the north rim of the bowl, to the east of here, are the junior queens and weyrleaders weyrs, and the entrance to the Hatching ground. The center of the bowl, off which is the entrance to the large living caverns, stretches out to the southeast.
"Form up in a semi-circle!" P'draig calls out, having gathered together a group of Weyrlings who are not otherwise occupied in practice with other weyrlingmaster assistants. "We're going to do a little bit of projection practice today!" Behind him Jekzith warbles bright greetings to the young ones.
R'lashi walks over to find a spot in the crecent, Enryth tottering right up behind him. He raises his hand and calls out to P'draig, "Do you want us to stand next to our dragons, or what?" Enryth's eyes whirl a cool blue as he nudges R'lashi's hand gently with his muzzle.
S'kris moves up to join the others, Wrencath sticking close by his side. "Yes, sir!", the young man calls, taking a position between R'lashi and another weyrling pair. Both look curious and the young dragon begins to fidget a little in place, all but wiggling in anticipation.
"Please do R'lashi - in pairs around where Jekzith and I are. Try to stay evenly spaced, at least arm's distance apart," he explains further.
Spacing himself out a little further from S'kris, R'lashi and Enryth take their places, and R'lashi gives a short salute to P'draig, "All ready, sir."
"All right, once you're ready, here's what's going to happen, I'm going to think of something and pass it to Jekzith, who will then pass it to the first dragon on this end of the circle," he points to the end nearest his right side. "The dragon will pass it to his or her rider, the rider will whisper it to the next weyrling that weyrling will pass it to his or her dragon. The last dragon/weyrling pair will state out loud, what was passed to them and we'll see what we get on the other end!"
R'lashi jumps excitedly, "That sounds like great fun!" He then resumes his original position, ready to get the game underway.
S'kris nods solemnly to P'draig, then shoots a look at Wrencath. "No exaggerating, y'hear? There's a time and place for everything, and this probably isn't it.", he whispers, giving the bronze a reassuring muzzle rub. "Sounds like a mighty fine idea, sir.", is spokent louder, for P'draig's benefit.
P'draig claps his hands together and turns towards S'kris on the nearer end of the circle. "All right, I'm going to give something to Jekzith and he'll pass it to Wrencath, who will pass it to you and then you whisper it to R'lashi and it'll make it's way around to T"hon over there." So saying P'draig falls silent and Jekzith cocks his head to the side as if actually 'listening' to what P'draig is coming up with, he lets out a soft breet before hunkering down and concentraing on conveying what's in his mind to Wrencath.
T'hon can't quite hide a laugh at something his dragon has said. "No, they're not already trusting us with responsibility," he replies to his dragon. Griseth shakes out his wings, settles down to lounge in the bowl and waits to hear whatever it is he's supposed to hear. T'hon, on the other hand, tries to catch the whispers, to boost his chances of success.
Jekzith> Jekzith visualizes a platter set with food, small items made with pastry, their tops oozing sweet juices, redolent of sweetener and spices and speaks the following message: << After class there will be bubbly pies for all Weyrlings. Pass it on. >>'.
Wrencath seems to catch the message alright, eyes spinning a bright shade of blue as he swings his head toward S'kris. He relays the message with an excited-sounding rumble and a happy bounce, then hastily headbutts the young man toward R'lashi. "I'm moving!", Soka drawls softly, then leans to whisper something in R'lashi's ear.
R'lashi gets the message from S'kris, tyring his best to commit what was just said to memory. His eyes glaze a little as he rethinks of what was just said to his Enryth.
P'draig watches the proceedings with a serious enough mien, though a smile might just be threatening at the corner of his mouth. "Concentrate on providing clear details as you pass it along, fuzzy projection leads to fuzzy messages," notes the brownrider.
Imali has connected.
S'kris looks suspiciously at Wrencath for a moment, but is answered with a soft, innocent-sounding warble. He reaches up and rubs a little on the young dragon's eyeridges, looking down the line to see how the message is progressing.
T'hon gives a sharp look to his dragon, who has a distinct air of 'That's what he *said*' about him. Sighing, he says to P'draig, "Griseth tells me that Enryth told *him* that after class we'll be doing something with boiling berries. Big ones. Apparently, Griseth saw a berry the size of a mountain." He gives P'draig a wary eye. "How far off is that?"
P'draig covers his mouth, eyes twinkling. "Oh did he then?" he spins around slowly and walks back around the semi-circle. He doesn't stop at Enryth though, but rather right at the beginning near Wrencath. "Just how big was this berry then?" he asks, trying so hard to look serious, and utterly failing.
Wrencath manages to look completely innocent, but S'kris' torn between laughing and shaking his head with dismay, so he just does both. "Oh, /now/ you've done it. Wrencath, just /what/ did you say?" The bronze maintains his innocence, sharing with the group at large in vivid tones of berry blue, << Hey! *I* didn't say it was a berry! It was just a huge pastry-goo-filled-thing- >>, here, he inserts the image of a bubbly pie, large enough to feed a Weyr, << and it was *huge* and there were giant rivers of that bubbling hot stuff and there were Weyrlings approaching it, but they were cut off by the river and they had to cross it to get there because they were starving ... well, that's what it *was*, honest! >>
Jekzith 's eyes sparkle brightly at Wrencath's vivid imagery. << That looks very delicious Wrencath! But that is not what I sent you! >> P'draig meantime is having a harder time not laughing now. "I see. Well then this is our first lesson in accuracy in projecting. Just imagine if that had been a clump of Thread you were talking about instead of a bubbly pie, Wrencath ... S'kris ..." he's more and more serious the more he speaks. "Ah, R'us, Lindith, do join us, we'll do a second round and this time Wrencath, try to stick to what's been sent to you, okay? The idea is to pass this as accurately as possible from one end of the line to the other."
Lindith picks her way out of the barracks, tilting her slender head up toward the sky the moment she's cleared the entrance. "They're all out here," R'us remarks with sullen gracelessness, surly a bit to be for even a moment less interesting to the long-limbed lady than the sky upon which her upward eye whirls so intently. "C'mon, we're missing something," the new greenrider adds, begging his companion's attention with a sweet hand upon her jawline, fingers admiring the curve there in an intimate plead. Lindith lets go of her mesmerized stare at the sky long enough to realize the line of weyrlings going through whatever exercise is being led and, unwilling to be left out, finally assents to be led into place somewhere among the others.
R'lashi shakes his head, laughing lightly at Wrencath's plight, starting to feel a little hungry himself. Enryth trys to reply to Wrencath, but ends up accidentally broadcasting his thoughts to all << Always thinking with your stomach, eh? At least it wasn't a meat storm this time. >> The tone does not come across as cutting or hurtful, but sarcastic and joking. R'lashi turns and scolds his dragon quietly, "That wasn't very nice, you may have hurt his feelings, ya know?" There's a slight pause, then << Sorry Wrencath >>.
Fizzle *pop* go Wrencath's images, disintegrating into a watery shower of pale yellow sparks. << Well, that's what it *should* have been. Sorry, Jekzith. >> Likewise, the bronze settles to the ground with a bit of a disheartened jiggle, muzzle pointed directly at the ground. He doesn't say anything right away, although S'kris blurts, "And, no, there are to wherries to blame it on! Just pass it straight from Jekzith to me this time, okay? At least you can make the images /look/ good. Terribly sorry, sir. We'll try harder this time." There's a discontented whuffle from the young dragon, a response finally finding its way threaded to Enryth, << The meat storm *was* there, though. I remember. >>
P'draig claps his hands together. "All right, all right, pull it together everyone, let's try it again and see if you can get the message right this time. Trust me, you -want- to get this one," he grins. "We'll start with Wrencath again and give him another chance all right S'kris?"
<< Meat storm? >> Lindith's lean head tilts up again, her whirling eye upon Wrencath now. No pleading petting from her rider will have her attention back in full this time; her focus is on this idea, a swirling twister of ovines still wooly and unbutchered among slabs of steak and even a few of the grilled ribs the silly humans burn before eating. Wind and food: a delightful combination, to her swirling young mind, and already exhausted even before the game begins R'us leans against the green's side with a sigh and asks the next weyrling in line, a bit morose, "What're we s'posed to do?"
Enryth starts twitching like a runner with a fly on it's back. << Gah! Itchy! >> R'lashi turns to Enryth, "Now? Well, guess I'll have to go oil him up. Sorry to have to leave at a time like this. Bye!" R'lashi runs into the barracks to go grab himself a pot of oil, Enryth trotting quickly behind him.
T'hon thumps Griseth affectionately on his shoulder blade. "No, you didn't do anythin' wrong. You reported what ye saw, an' that's always right. Now c'mon, P'draig says we get t' have another chance."
S'kris nods firmly to P'draig. "We'll try again, sir." Then, aside, "You'll do fine this time, Wrencath, particularly since you /do/ have such a keen way of showing things." Slightly more encouraged the young dragon lifts his head and warbles a bit, swivelling his head at the image Lindith seems to share. << Exactly! A meat storm, just like that! Er. >>, he's called back to attention with a light thump delivered to his foreleg by Soka. "C'mon, now. This is important."
P'draig only waves a hand acknowledgeing R'lashi's departure. Itches in dragonets this young must be attended to. He continues on with the projection practice with the remaining group. "Jekzith and I have passed an image and a message to Wrencath who then passed it to S'kris, we're about to start over passing the same message down the line, each dragon passes it to the next dragon, the dragon to his or her weyrling, the weyrling to the the next weyrling, to the next dragon, and so on," he explains for R'us and Lindith's benefit. "Indeed, T'hon's right, you only pass what you see, but you need to attempt to retain that and pass it on as well as you can."
Lindith's long neck arches, her wings reflexively flickering along her sides as if their sails might brush off itches of her own. << Come back soon, Enryth; we must learn how to make a meat storm. >> Wrencath, having turned his attention somewhat to the task at hand, has lost a little of the slender green's delicate focus. And then Enryth, leaving, loses that focus as well, and she tips her muzzle right up toward the sky, backing up onto her hindquarters, jostling R'us from his lean in her efforts to get closer without any forbidden flapping. "Hey, hey, precious, we'll get there," says the rough-edged lad, stretching up a hand to tug gently at limed necksails. "I promised I'd bring you out later, all right? Just us?" Hissing a whisper now, R'us' face flushes a bit. "C'mon, listen. We're playing messenger, only weird."
Wrencath wiggles his rump a little, growing more and more fidgety as he awaits the image. "Calm down, you.", S'kris whispers with a smile, reaching over to rub his lifemate's shoulder. "You'll get the message soon enough and then you'll pass to me, got it?" The bronze whuffles a bit, then looks expectantly at Jekzith.
Jekzith resends the same image as before, this time drawn even more clearly for Wrencath, and accompanies it with the same words. "Here we go," says Paddy, grinning around the circle. "Let's see if you get it this time - if it's right, then you have permission to disband and pursue that message."
Intent on getting it *right* this time, Wrencath takes the image and passes it along to S'kris with an eager warble this time. It takes the young man a moment or two to make sure it's the /right/ image, then he heads down to the nearest weyrling down the way, who's quick to pass the message along to R'us.
R'us startles at the approach of the weyrling, but tips his head willingly enough to hear the message. His eyes widen and, after a moment trying to confirm what he's heard simply by goring a stare through the other lad, he flips his bangs back with a toss of his head and turns to Lindith to convey the word. Or try. She resettles on her rear haunches, forelegs pawing a bit at the ground, knees bending and unbending in awkward twitches as she 'listens,' then arches her neck toward the next weyrling dragon in line to pass on the content for carrying on toward T'hon at the line's end.
P'draig paces around the circle, waiting patiently for the outcome. "Focus," he reminds the group.
Griseth gives Jezkith ande Wrenceth an unsure look, as his tail flops, displaying his ambiguity about this one. Not his thing. But dutifully he reports to T'hon, who blinks. "Are you sure?" Griseth is sure. "Well, ok then." He looks to P'draig. "Griseth shows me a big ol' platter of food, like it might be silver or some such, a bit posh too. An' th' food looks like it might be sweets, an' that we can have 'em after lessons." He shakes his head, smiling. "I wonder how close we got *this* time."
This time, P'draig gives a thumbs up. "All right. Much better. Yes, there's a platter of bubbly pies waiting for you in the Weyrlingmaster's office. They -were- hot when I put them in there earlier, but they've probably cooled since. I'll go get them and we can share them with the rest of the Weyrlings! Good work today. Please try to practice this sort of thing casually when you're together in small groups, between lessons, or before you go to sleep at night, to sharpen your projection and communication skills." Jekzith sits up and bugles his approval in the background and noses towards the young dragons, offering congratulations to each one.
S'kris is probably more relieved than Wrencath from the way his shoulders slump and his eyes slide shut. "There, see? That wasn't so awful, was it?", he says after a moment. "I'll get some meat for you, since you can't share any of the bubblies. Ah, and thank you, sir, for the lesson and the pies." There's a longsuffering sigh from the young dragon, who settles fully on the ground with a soft *whump*. He cranes his head around to peer at Lindith, then at Griseth just beyond, before his attention finally settles on happy thoughts of meat, and meat-based bubbly-pies.
Lindith sweeps her neck back around so her head bolts her rider in the ribs, cutting short R'us whoop of triumph with a cough. "-I- like them. They're sweet and, uh, pieish." Dubious whirls of contented azure float through the margarita green of the young dragon's eyes, which she then lifts skyward again in the best approximation she can make of rolling them. Her rider rolls his in turn, right back at her, then seems to notice her all over again through his uplifted gaze and reaches a hand out to stroke her shoulder. "I keep telling you, we can't eat the same things." But Lindith's attention has drifted back to the sky, with a side dish of Wrencath's portly shape, and R'us is left to offer P'draig a sloppy salute. "Yeah, thanks. Uh, sir. And um. I had a - oh. Never mind."
"Actually, I don't see how one pie could hurt, S'kris - Wrencath really did try hard to pass that message along," says Paddy gently. "Besides, they're so small compared to him it'd be barely a taste." He shrugs once and gestures towards the Barracks. "Shall I bring them out to you here? We can all take a break then, before the last chores of the evening start and curfew. If any of you have any questions about this practice or anything else that's going on, feel free to ask and you can consider this 'at ease' time."
T'hon turns to Griseth, who gives him an 'ewwwww, gross!' look. He grins to P'draig. "Guess it'll be just one for me, then. Griseth don't seem too fond of sweet things. But then again, he ain't all that fond of what he calls 'my things' as opposed to 'his things'. Kinda black an' white thinkin', if you ask me, but then, he's still got a lot t' learn 'bout th' world.
S'kris looks dubiously -- though hopeful -- at P'draig. "Are you sure? It won't make him sick or anything? I suspect that'd be a very good thing indeed, then, if it's just one. He would rather appreciate that. This exercise was rather ... interesting. Will we be doing it rather more often as time goes by?" Obviously. Because at the merest whiff of him getting a bubbly, Wrencath's attention snaps from images of meat-pies to berry-pies and his whole hefty self starts to wiggle with glee. << Oh! Look, Jekzith! I get one of those things, now. Have you ever had one? I bet they taste better than meat. >>, of course, his attempts at keeping this on a private channel are flawed, and they spill out into a general query for the group.
"I had a question," R'us finishes glumly, just above a whisper, shoulders rounding in a slump now that he's 'at ease'. Lindith pauses in her eyeing of Wrencath to flip her tail in an awkward effort at a curl 'round her weyrling's feet, resulting in sending the lad leaping and hopping so as not to be tripped up. << Maybe we should try a pie storm, >> she muses, perfectly content to be included in other dragons' private conversation by accident. As if it's pretty much her right to be, in fact. << We could all beat our wings and maybe there would be enough wind. >> Glinting mischief shines in swirling eyes.
"Yes, we'll be practicing this again in this form and in others, good communication skills are critical for dragonriders and dragons." So saying P'draig vanishes for a few minutes, before returning with that platter of promised sweeties. "They're still ... kinda warm, but not hot like they were about an hour ago," he says wryly. "Ah well, they should still be good." He sets the platter down on a flattish-topped rock, to serve as an impromptu picnic table. "Help yourselves. And only one for any dragonets who want to try them," he cautions. << I have tried many things that mine makes. But I do like fresh meat the best. >> "Ask away," Paddy notes to R'us, and flops down on the ground as if he were still a Weyrling himself, a bubbly clasped in one hand, staining his fingers purple.
Imali has been sitting down in the shadows, watching the whole time since Keevin had let her go for th enight. Freshly bathed and smelling much better, she had been sitting there watching their lesson the whole time. "Much better." She calls out, standing up and coming out of the shadows. "Wrencath, do you have to wriggle so? It's so undignified for you." She reamrks, moving over to them. "P'draig, splendid job. ALl of you, you did much better."
T'hon leaves Griseth behind and heads to the platter and takes a bubbly pie. He fully intends to eat it without any mind, but Griseth suddenly sits up and gives T'hon a demanding look. Chagrined, T'hon lowers the pie away from his mouth and grins, a little sheepishly. "Anybody got a spoon? Griseth seems t' think that just crammin' it int' my mouth all at once ain't . . . er, . . . nice."
S'kris jogs over to pick up a pair of bubblies, lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary before finally taking a seat next to Wrencath again. "I'm sure they're fine, sir; it's worse when they're so hot they blister your mouth." His nose wrinkles and he turns to offer the bubbly to Wrencath's already gaping maw. In goes the bubbly and then it's gone, just like that. << I don't think a storm made of pies would be so good, Lindith. That'd be a really bad waste of pies. You should try one! >> S'kris munches away on his bubbly, glancing over at R'us when the young man has a question. One eyebrow quirks up, but he doesn't say anything. T'hon's question, on the other hand, elicits, "Er, well, no, I don't. But bubblies are meant to be eaten barehanded like this."
"Spoon? Nope," says Paddy and jerks his thumb towards the Barracks. On the sideboard in there where the snacks usually are," he explains. Then he fixes Imali with a long stare then rises to his feet. "A word Imali," he says in a rather flat tone, crooking his finger at the former Candidate as he steps somewhat to the side from the rest of the group.
Imali stares at P'draig. "Yes?" She asks softly, stepping near him.
R'us pauses, looking torn. Lindith has no interest in the pies, though watching Wrencath's interest seems to keep her focus; still, she's not going to trawl her lanky self over there and deign to taste them. But P'draig is there with one in hand. It's ridiculous, really, that the greenling apparently feels the need to reach out and hug his Lindith before separating himself all of eight feet from her, but so he does and this thing is done. Then he's there at the weyrlingmaster's side, taking up one of the pies to pick at it while observing, "You could kinda pull it apart into little pieces, T'hon," like he himself is going to try to do, dropping crumbs on his shoes. "Um, sir, I had a question about, uh," Oops, Imali first. R'us backs up and focuses on the pie, pretending like he can't hear. Not very well.
P'draig speaks in a hushed tone, not meant for the others to overhear, but he's dead serious as he speaks, eyes fixed firmly on Imali's face He mutters to Imali, "... you... to... such... one you... They're entirely... for... that... hear and if... entire Barracks might... I... stressing the... Please... your comments... have... you steer... a..."
Imali senses "P'draig speaks in a hushed tone, not meant for the others to overhear, but he's dead serious as he speaks, eyes fixed firmly on Imali's face "I'll thank you kindly to keep remarks such as the one you just made to S'kris and Wrencath to yourself. They're entirely inappropriate for a dragon that young to hear and if he gets upset by you, the entire Barracks might pay. I can't have you stressing the dragonets out. Please watch your comments when you're about the Weyrlings and the dragonets otherwise I'll have to ask that you steer clear of them until they're a bit older."
T'hon sighs, glancing from Griseth to the office, and deciding that a utensil isn't really all that necessary. HE gives Griesth the affectionate explaination that "sometimes, human foods ain't meant t' be eaten all nice an' neat," and apparently drops into a mental, non-vocal explanation of 'hunting' and its required messiness. Griseth, shocked, decides to get others opinions, showing them what T'hon just said, essentially, a picture of an adult brown dragon swooping low over a terrified heardbeast and then killing it, afterwards feeding on it. That is not a neat process. << < Will we really do this? >> >
Imali winces. She speaks softly too. "I'm sorry, P'draig, I just didn't realize that he would take offense." She whispers softly. "I'll try to keep my comments to myself sir, I really will." her face clearly says that too be forced away from her friends would be /terrible/.
Wrencath delights in Griseth's image, embellishing it with extra herdbeasts and with the brown dragon -- well, now a bronze one -- flaming the poor beast to a crisp before eating it. He stops the flow of images, rewinds it, then adds larger herdbeasts, and some funny little 'splat' sound effects when the beast is trounced instead of flamed. << It looks like it'll be fun, Griseth! I bet they do make funny splat noises when we land on them, too. >> Imali's comment from previously must've gone unnoticed, or at least deflected by this new game of 'create an image'. S'kris? Still busy with his bubbly, apparently caught up in sharing Wrencath's creative outburst.
P'draig nods. "You have to be careful around young dragons, slow and steady, all right? Now come have a bubbly," invites Paddy and he ushers Imali back over to the group. << Oh yes! >> replies Jekzith to Griseth. << It is so good and such fun! >>
<< I certainly hope we will, >> Lindith absently reports, lifting her muzzle again to the sky, tasting her own 'lips' with a flicker of a dark veridian tongue. << I hope to eat the feathery ones, >> neither 'hunt' nor 'wherry' yet part of her vocabulary. << Perhaps by eating them I will learn more about things with wings. >> Like herself; her sails rustle against her sides, impatient already for their purpose. Meanwhile, R'us eats a bubbly by means of picking it apart in his fingertips, lifting wet globs of berry-goo to his mouth one bite after another. As P'draig returns he stuffs the last bit into his mouth, glomp chomp, and through it says, "I hab a bestshun sir?"
"Ask away R'us, when your mouth is clear," replies P'draig, resuming his seat and popping more pie into his mouth.
Imali shakes her head at P'draig, thne, taking a bubbly, edges over to Sok- uh, s'kris. "Sorrya bout that comment?"
T'hon wipes his hands clean on his pants, for any lack of washing water. He'll just clean them later. Griseth, noticing that, manages to give off embarassed vibes. Of course, ever since T'hon first cleaned him off, he's been fastidious about his own personal cleanliness. He settles down much like a canine, awaiting whatever will come next.
R'us sucks the berry goo off of a finger. Slup. "I was gonna ask, sir, if there's a limit to who all we should be saluting and stuff to. I mean, I was taught at Harper that you say 'sir' and 'ma'am' to dragonriders, or call them by title, just outta respect for what they did," awkward beat, "er, do, unless you have a name and they let you use it." Hurrying on past tiny faux pas: "And I know we're outranked by all the other riders so it's pretty much the same now, but what do I call a harper now if I see one?" It is surely completely happenstance that Lindith sighs preciously, then slinks over and noses curiously at Wrencath. << Are you going to try one or not? >>
S'kris is about halfway done with his bubbly -- so, he's a slow eater -- and pauses when Imali approaches. "Ah, well, he can't help it any, Imali. You're just lucky he forgot about it when he did, otherwise he might've really been upset." He turns an affectionate smile to Wrencath and gives the nearest bit of his dragon a quick rub. "So, just mind your manners next time and don't say something that might make him fretful." Wrencath's attention is now on Lindith, his mindvoice an eager smattering blue on yellow, << Hey, do you really think that'll work? I mean, eating the feathered and flying things to learn how to fly better? But that'd be kind of hard to do without removing those feathery bits, because you might choke on them and get sick. >> Pause. << Try one what? >>
Imali sighs. "I keep on forgetting at how young and precious, and sensitive they are."
"When in doubt, sir or ma'am, but you should know ranks from knots and if you don't, I'd suggest making a study of it, because you should address all by rank and or title," notes P'draig. "As for saluting ... I ... the Weyrlingmaster will be lecturing on etiquette shortly." Paddy looks momentarily disconcerted by the question, his own inexperience in the position showing, << They are good, aren't they? Pies are good but I still like meat better, >> notes Jekzith, uninterested in the topic of human conversation. << As for wherries ... they're kind of stringy to my taste. You might like fish though Lindith. >> He casts up an image of a deep sea fish, large and fleet.
T'hon is distracted from Griseth, and shushes him. "Saluting? Er." He pauses. "Maybe you could tell us where them records are that tell which knot means which rank an' all, 'cause I know I don't know all that I oughta. Back home, Harper used t' come around a few times a turn, but mostly, th' schoolin' was 'bout readin' an' writin' an' all, not knots an' ranks an' whatnot. An' . . . ok, maybe I'm th' only one, but I dunno how t' salute."
"I... I know 'em." R'us scuffs and leans sideways to snare another pie, something to busy his fingers with while replying to the weyrlingmaster they have right now, even if the lad gives the man a bit of a shy grin in recognizing someone else a bit out of his depth. "I just forget to look. And to think about it. But thanks, sir." Another bite of pie, while Lindith impatiently reminds Wrencath, << -Those,- >> with a strong sense of borrowed berry-flavor and pie-texture from her lifemate; no need has she to eat one of the unmeat things herself. Jezkith's direct address swirls her focus, however, and after a moment she turns her slender head up and looks up, up and up, at the grown brown. << Fish, >> she echoes, looking for understanding of the word while her wings flicker along her sides.
"Actually, there's a uh ... board in the Barracks you can use T'hon," notes Paddy. "I'll find it for you and set it up so you and anybody else who needs a review can see it. Salutes are supposed to be covered in that lecture, but if you want some practice now, I can show you," he offers, grinning a blue-toothed smile.
S'kris just nods to Imali, but by then she's already gone. Much, in fact, like his bubbly seems to have vanished, the last few bites eaten without his full awareness. Wrencath looks rather morose at this, finally swinging his attention back to Lindith with, << Oh! Hey, yeah, I already ate mine, see? >> to which he opens his mouth rather more widely than necessary to reveal that he ate /all/ of it, save for a smidgen of purple that still lingers on his tongue. << Very sweet, but I liked it a lot. My S'kris likes sweet berry-things, too. Oh, I hope I get to try some of those hard sweet-things he has. >> There's a pause, while S'kris stares at the bronze, communicating something which is promptly relayed with an indignant, << Or he would have if he didn't give them all to that ... that person he knows! >> The mention of fish distracts him well enough, as he takes the image and gives it an unnecessary number of fins and a huge, fangy mouth. << Do the look like this, too? >>
Griseth replies with interest. << I am sure we will be able to overcome any threat, even if they do look like Wrencath's image. After all, when we grow to be as large as Jezkith, we will have nothing to fear. Nothing is as large as we will become.>>
<< Oh yes. There are some like that, >> Jekzith confirms Wrencath's oddly accurate image of a certain fish that's not commonly seen closer to shore. << Mostly though, we find these. >> He draws in intricate detail a yellowfin, in all its glory, accompanied by a sense of the succulent flavor of the raw fish meat, the satisfying crunch of bones. P'draig meanwhile is getting to his feet to do a saluting demonstration. "You stand at attention, feet together, shoulders back and -snap-," he brings his arm up in a sharp salute, holds, and drops it. "Wanna try?" By the minute he's just seeming like another young rider and less like the weyrlingmaster assistant he's supposed to be. Someone might just get in trouble later for it.
<< Person he knows? >> "Hey, what's that about?" R'us, catching some small tidbit of Lindith's conversation, whips a stare at S'kris with the unerring accuracy of the surly schoolboy who envies the rival smooth-talker. But as the lime-hued green lifts up on her stick-thin legs and at last gives her wings the singular, lengthy stretch they so seem to need, arching her spars to better show off the youngling hues of her developing sails, something about her rider's demeanor darkens from curious-jealous to darkly disturbed. "Uh," he observes over a picked-apart bit of pie. "I think I'm gonna go oil somebody. Wouldn't you like that, baby? Some nice oil and I'll tell you about caprines. They're small, like wherry but not feathery." He sleeks a berry-stained hand up along his young green's shoulder, and she lifts her head to nose at his ear. Smug for no good reason whatsoever, R'us gives S'kris a -look- -- so there! -- and leads his lifemate off into the barracks.
T'hon gives a grateful smile to P'draig. "Thanks. Here I been worryin' 'bout stuff an' now I can just go an' look." He follows P'draig's movements with his eyes, then nods, and tries to imitate. Everything goes well until he tries to snap his arm up, and misses by a mile, staggering off balance. "Heh, heh . . .er . . ." His half-hearted attempt to laugh it off trails away, and the tips of his ears turn red.
Watching R'us go with a slight frown, Paddy drags his attention back to the saluting demonstration. "Um ... right, plant the rest of your body firmly so you don't ... go all off-balance," he says and approaches T'hon. "Is it okay ?" he asks, hand hovering over the other young man's lower back, waiting for permission to correct his posture.
Wrencath looks singularly confused over the whole ordeal, both the fish and Lindith's rider's reaction, the events blurring somewhat in his mind. He presses his muzzle questioningly into Soka's side. "He-ey, now. Don't you worry, I'll tell you all about my friends later, I /assure/ you. And never you mind how /he/ acts, either. I fancy he just isn't too terribly friendly with most people. He was like that before Lindith took a shine to him.", this all said in a low, even voice, explanatory without being rude. S'kris finally stands, reaching down to give that dish-shaped muzzle a loving rub. "Ah ... well, no, I also don't truly think your display of fish with Jekzith scared- ... oh, I suspect we should." To P'draig, "Thank you, sir, for the bubblies -- and that's from both of us. They were delicious, of course." That said, the two head into the barracks as well.
T'hon gives a wary eye to P'draig, suddenly remembering the more wild and lurid stories about weyrfolk -- dragonriders in particular. Griseth, picking up on his young riders unease, comes to full attention and stands, looming a little bit, trying to be intimidating. "Er. You want t' teach me how t' salute, I guess I better learn." And from Griesth, a stern << Do not hurt him >>.
P'draig catches the expression and chuckles softly. "Piper's weyrmate," he says simply, to dispel any of that and just lightly applies pressure to firm up the Weyrling's lower back and a little across the abdomen and then his hands are gone. "Keep tucked in from the back and the front," he scoots one foot out nudging T'hon's stance a bit closer together. "Rock solid from toes to nose," he chants almost. "Bring your arm out smoothly, and up, touch finger tips to temple, and back out again." He guide the appropriate arm, then drops it, and adopts the stance himself, demonstrating.
T'hon looks around him, eyes practically crossing as he tries to follow P'draig. Soon, though, he nods. "I think I got it. Let me try again." Determindly, T'hon sets himself up again, chanting 'nose to toes' under his breath, and gives a passable salute. He grins, while Griseth croons his own approval. "Hey, I did it."
Standing back to observe now, P'draig nods a few times. "There you go, practice, practice, practice, because you'll need to start saluting the Weyrlingmaster and me and Acadia and Lexiana end of this seven-day and all of the rest of the Weyrstaff as soon as your Barracks restriction is lifted and you get visitors."
T'hon nods. "Speakin' of which. . . oh yeah, eh, sir, s'pose I gotta ask, 'cause Griseth's been on my case a little 'bout it all -- when d' we get t' leave th' barracks an' this part of th' bowl? He's just dyin' t' go further an' discover more, an' I can't keep tellin' him it's for his own good t' stay here."
.
"I ... think you can go to the lake - they're going to need regular bathing soon. But um ... I'll have to check with the Weyrlingmaster," replies Paddy slowly, a hint of pink in his cheeks. "I uh ... this is my first time helping out with Weyrlings," he confesses and scratches at his head looking a bit sheepish. "I'm sort of learning the ropes a bit too at least, with the order of the training and all. Not you know, being a dragonrider!" he flusters through that, then looks over at Jekzith who is crooning at him reassuringly. The big brown slides on over and nudges P'draig gently. "Yeah, I know, I know, probably shouldn't have said. Anyway, I meant it, if you guys have questions or anything, or concerns, my ears are open."
T'hon smiles. "Well, we'll be new t'gether, I guess. No shame in bein' new at somethin', or so I'm told, time an' again." He grins. "Gotta start somewhere." But as the rest of the dragons go back into the barracks and Griseth settles back down and closes his eyes, T'hon chews his lower lip a little. "C'n I ask you somethin', P'draig?"
"Nah, no shame in it, but there's gaps in what I can and can't tell you ... y'know, formally. Other stuff ..." he shrugs. "I can talk to you a blue streak 'bout being a brownrider!" He grins and then nods. "Ask away ..." he waves a hand broadly and perches on a rock, cross-legged, nursing another bubbly pie. Jekzith curls around the rock, watching with azure eyes, a solid, comforting presence one hopes.
T'hon shrugs. "Just wonderin' how long it took ya t' get used t' all of this," he says. "Havin' somebody in yer head all th' time, bein' responsible for yer dragon when ye ain't ever been responsible for anybody ever before, bein' tossed in head first -- I guess I'm just hopin' it gets easier."
P'draig blows out a long breath. "Weeeell, it's different for me. I'm Weyrbred, see. Been around dragons all my life. All of my parents are riders ..." explains P'draig. "But yeah ... having someone else in your brainpan, no matter how used to dragons you are, is ... different. I'd say it took a good Turn before I figured things out with Jekzith and another Turn after that before it felt like ... things had always been this way. I can't honestly remember now what it was like, NOT to have him in my head."
T'hon shakes his head. "Well, I guess I'll just hafta give it time then. I dunno. I ain't weyrbred an' there's a lot t' get used to. But I'm sure I can handle it -- Griseth wouldn'ta picked me if I couldn't cope."
'Exactly, just keep at it, and it'll come along eventually. This first week that's what it's all about ... getting used to each other. It's why we kind of keep you off by yourselves for a while. It's not that we want you to be isolated, it's more that you need that cushion between you and the res tof the world, to adjust, have space to yourselves while you figure out who you are together."
T'hon nods, thinking. "Well, we'll see. Anyhow. I gotta give Griseth his last feed afore bedtime, an' I gotta go get myself a bath before *I* hit th' sack, so if I can get him up an' t' his couch, guess I oughta be gettin' there. Thanks, P'draig, for th' pies an' all."
"Good plan T'hon, good plan ... and I need to find Piper, and tell her in no uncertain terms to get -her- hide into bed," grins P'draig. "I'll see you bright and early Weyrling," he concludes more formally, tosses off another salute, and then slowly strolls across the Bowl, while Jekzith silently takes off and wings his way to Faldaverth's ledge.