Of the first taste of raindrops
Nolee, G'tive, Charis, Cynara, I'sai
Ista Weyr Bowl
The day after Ista Weyr's hatching
Charis has arrived.
An average height young woman stands before you. Her rough demeanor is quite evident as her grey eyes hold a hard edge as she looks at everyone around her. Her stature and build isn't anything to write home about, but she is strong as a watch dragon if need be. Her hair is shoulder length and actually one of her best features, a klah brown color with rich red highlights and an unusual inch wide streak of gray. It has a natural wave to it and it held back loosely in a runnertail. There is a scar that runs along her jaw and several other small ones on her arms and neck. She is dressed quite plainly with a comfortable loose shirt that has a lacing tie up the front. Her pants are a dark color and she wears a pair of soft leather boots. She seems to be about 17 turns old.
A shock of white hair seems to dominate this young man's appearance. His hair is thick and curling and he's let it grow long recently, it's shaggy ringlets curl around his ears and have to be swept out of his face. He is a decent height at 6'1 and still has that slim wiry build of a growing youth. Though his chest and arms seem to be filling out, you can tell he's a little awkward with the new growth. His deep tan is even and his eyes and thick brows are dark, making a stark contrast to his hair. A strong nose with a crook at the bridge suggests that it has been broken before and his wide mouth is angled giving him a lopsided grin and roguish smile. Large hands are usually shoved into his pockets, though when out, you can see that they are crossed with scars, some seem to have been deep gouges while others, mostly across his knuckles and fingers, are long straight marks. Upon closer inspection, under dishevelled strands of hair, his left ear appears red and seems to be sore. Two white bone hoops look to have been jabbed mercilessly into his lobes, the hoops are small but thick with the first one being slightly larger than the one behind it. Doesn't he look gentlemanly and dapper?
The robe Gustive grabbed from the pile had been shorter at one point, though a fairly decent attempt had been made to add a length of the same white cloth to the bottom. Any viewing from the galleries probably wouldn't even notice the alteration. Unfortunately the fit around the chest is a bit too tight while the rest hangs loosely, making the already unflattering garment look a little too much like a dress on the young man. The hemmed edge of the robe ends mid calf, leaving his legs bare with his feet clad in the traditional thin soled sandles. He seems to have lucked out and found a pair that fit him.
Cansoth(#2810Vps$)
Evening's sparkle touches this brown like the gleam of twilight on smooth bourbon. His hide is rich amber velvet over the lanky, fluid line of his long neck and gently sloped shoulders. Warm ale-hues pool and trickle about his neckridges, washing down his lean back and spreading in lazy rivulets about his winspars. Waterspots create a subtle dappling along his transluscent sails, toned barely lighter than the evening shadows that play there. Whiskey cascades along his back, pouring over his flanks and down the length of his tail. Midnight's utter black shines on his talons, adorning wide paws like dark jewels. His head is broad, in divergence from his lean build, and accented by his straight, prominent muzzle and the continued line of headknobs touched with moonshine.
Cynara
Perhaps in her mid teens, this young woman has curves, but not, or not yet, full-bodied ones. Small in height and build, she barely tops five feet and would be considered 'petite' by most. Elfin features would seem even more delicate were it not for the deep tan that marks her skin. Around them, a riot of stubborn black curls falls, seeming to either not have been combed in days or to refuse to bow to the comb. Her best feature, perhaps, is her eyes, which are a startling, deep green, and sparkle with life and laughter.
She is wearing plain brown pants and a lighter beige shirt, short-sleeved to reveal that her arms actually have quite a bit of muscle on them. Plain brown sandals cover her feet. Afixed to her shirt is a black and orange knot with a single strand of blue.
She would seem to be around 14 Turns, 10 months, and 17 days old.
Marsath
All skin and bones, huge slanted eyes and raspy wings, the young teal-blue dragon hasn't yet filled out to his future sleek physique. Those wings, set at a particularly effective angle, promise aggressive acceleration and torque to spare - when they're not busy tangling around dark talons, at least. A broad neck provides a stable base for his future rider, while narrow but strong haunches will learn to propel him powerfully, his hindlegs shorter than some but with more leverage thereby. As for his hide, for all its luxurious sheen, it boasts no grandiose changes of hue or value but instead a subtler sophistication: faint striping that parallels his ribs all the way to rangy flanks, artful highlights along aerodynamically curved neckridges, and an odd little squiggle right down his long and inquisitive muzzle.
The winter's high humidity has somehow sparked an unusual gathering of clouds in the sky, and they appear rather threatening. Undaunted, a tired blonde yawns, stretches, and walks into the bowl, looking around at it as though it were alien. Behind her, a young dragonet bounds, scrabbling every time she trips over her own excess folds of skin. "Has it only been a little while? And is the sun going down already?" Nolee wonders.
Out of the barracks comes another of the young pairs. Dressed simply, Cynara stays very close to the brilliant teal blue of her young lifemate, and is engaged in murmured, one-sided conversation with him. "No, you won't be as big as a bronze...well, it's so we have all different sizes of dragon." There's nothing in her tone that suggests she resents what appears to be a string of questions punctuated with 'why'.
Charis walks through the bowl and spots the weyrlings with their new lifemates. She watches in awe, but keeps her distance not wanting to disturb them. Her eyes settle on Nolee in some recognition and smiles.
Nolee comes to a halt, the dragonet bounding along behind her head-butting the pear-shaped girl in the thighs. Nolee tries to catch her balance, the hand that's raised to hail Charis flailing to stop her from tumbling over. "Cynara! Does yours ever bump right into you? I can't get her to look where she's going for meat or begging. And whose that? Hallo! I'm not so good with names, but I think we've met. C'mon over--I don't think they bite, only Eslyn's, really. And Nae, er, M'yrs."
Cynara lifts a hand to Charis as well. Marsath's muzzle lifts, his gaze drifting over to the stranger, but his eyes whirl contented green right now. "No, he's usually too busy tripping over his own wings," she says, fondly, reaching for the nearest eyeridge automatically. "Nalaieth is a /gorgeous/ color," she complements, but keeps that physical contact with her own dragon.
Charis smiles and nods as she looks at the dragonet. "They really are gorgous." She stands a little away, "I'm Charis. New here to Ista. Jest travelin with the traders and ended up here."
"You think so?" Nolee looks at the dragonet whirling a fascinated study of the world around her, even stretching out her muzzle to sniff at the stranger. "She looks kinda like a young canine. Big paws, and all those ruffles of skin! She'll either grow into them and be all fat, or be saggy forever." An affectionate scratching is given her companion while she admires Marsath. "He's got racing stripes. You think he'll be really fast?" Charis is given a sloppy curtsy, Nolee trying not to bonk the young dragon on the head. "Oh! With the traders. Right! Did you hear back about if your group'll make it around the northern tip of the island?"
Cynara hrms. "I don't know...although if he stays as long and lithe as he is now compared to some of the others, it wouldn't surprise me. But I love his color." She looks almost, for a moment, like somebody who just found an entire basket of baby felines. Awww. Marsath, though, takes note of the fact that she stopped scritching, and nudges her with his muzzle.
Marsath doesn't wave with his tail, but he does vocalize, making a hatchling-sized warble sound at the departing person, then crooning as his rider goes back to doing her job, that is to say, petting him. "The first thing that came into my head when he hatched was that I'd love a shirt that color...and now look how much of it I've got." And a lot more growing to do yet.
Nalaieth's low-voiced croon also echoes Marsath; the little copycat also gets a petting, Nolee's hands still shiny from a coating of oil. "No kidding about that growing part. I'm not looking forward to all that hide. Though," a soft giggle, "that'd be an awfully big shirt, if you had one as big as he'll be." Nalaieth, satisfied to have gained Nolee's attention, bounds playfully toward Marsath, stopping in front of him and bobbing her muzzle.
Marsath tries to touch his sister, muzzle to muzzle, and Cynara giggles. "Definitely...something like, oh, twenty-six, twenty-seven meters of him, at a guess...that's about average for a blue, I think." Spreading his little wings, Marsath croons a little at Nalaieth, head now tilting to one side.
Cynara hrms. "I'm told firelizards can be trained to help, I'm thinking my two will be willing. If all else fails...isn't it one of the things /Candidates/ are for?" She winks. "I got roped in to wash dragons often enough during both candidacies, I see no reason not to pass on the tradition." Marsath's attention has drifted back from his gold sister to his rider, he actually moves to almost rub against her, as best as something with wings can. Lightly, she rests one slender-fingered hand on the arch of the blue neck. "No, no, you're not too much work at all, beautiful."
Nolee's eyes widen, the tiny wheels in her head turning slowly. "They can? I'll have to teach Gob, if he ever comes back. He was so frightened yesterday, and I bet he doesn't even know where to find me now. Have yours come back since?" While she continues to scheme about potentially helpful candidates, Nalaieth arcs her wing in a gentle tent, watching the sail flutter in the strange breeze heralding a light rain across the weyr.
Cynara nods. "They came back...in fact, Damsel's asleep in Marsath's wallow, but it takes a lot to get her to leave her source of food and scritches. Twilight appeared, chittered something that sounded like 'who are you' at Marsath, and then vanished in search of greens." The rain drips onto Marsath, and after a moment, Cynara laughs at nothing...or, more likely, at something the hatchling said.
Nolee startles as the first few droplets fall thickly enough from the sky to be felt, raising her hand to test them. Nalaeith arcs her wing to protect herself from the strange cold liquid, crooning malcontentedly while her tail twitches in dismay. "He did? You think he'd be more forgiving if Marsath were green? A giant target for him to pursue." She laughs at the thought, tugging on her strangely patchworked shirt. "He'd best be careful not to flop down on Damsel--do you think they can talk to each other, like they talk to us? Dragons and firelizards, I mean."
Cynara hrms. "I think they can communicate a little bit. At least at the level of 'get off my ledge'." She grins a bit. "I'll move Damsel when I get back, it seems a shame to wake her up until Marsath needs his space." She runs her hand along the neck again. "He's so skinny." a pause, and then more of that wry laughter, words and thoughts and feelings passing so easily between the two.
Nolee can't help but laugh at the dragonet as Nalaieth croons from beneath her own over-floppy wing. Easily fascinated by the next thing, the dragonet peeks her head out, braving the rain. Next, she opens her maw wide, collecting the raindrops inside as though she'd swallow them all. "He is skinny," Nolee blithely agrees, rubbing raindrops off of her nose. "What's he saying? What does his voice sound like, in your head?"
Cynara brushes back her damp hair. Marsath seems to be not quite sure what to make of the rain thing. He sniffs at it, then /sneezes/ drops out of his nose. "He's asking questions, mostly. Some of them...uh...rather personal. And he sounds...it's a light voice, for a guy, but it's got a raspy purr to it...it's just /him/."
Cansoth raises from his nap finally and joins his clutchmates, his lifemate following closely behind. G'tive smiles endulgently as Canso runs headlong to the puddles in a excited fashion. he tries to spot the puddle he'd been watching earlier, head bent low and not paying much attention to his surroundings, almost running right into a golden clutchmte. "Voice sounds? Mine has a taste," Gus laughs, catching the end of conversation.
Nolee tilts her head, the pairing's implications occuring to her of a sudden. "A boy's voice? In your head? Is it better, like is he helpful, or" she startles as Nalaieth paces backwards, surprised by the sneeze, dragging her human along. She tries to repeat the sound of the ha-choo, but fails, leaving a string of drool on Nolee's leg. "Eeeew. Quit that." She does, but it is only to regard Cansoth, her paw poised above a forming puddle: playtime?
Cynara smiles. "Hey there, G'tive...Cansoth is handsome," she notes, then turns back to Nolee. "I thought I'd prefer a green, prefer a girl, but...right now, I'm the one helping him, teaching him. I already can't imagine life without him, and yes, he's a boy, but...it's not quite the same as if it were a /human/ boy. If that makes any sense." Marsath is most definitely male, but right now he's turning towards Cansoth, distracted by him for only a moment, before all of his rapt attention goes back to his lifemate.
I'sai emerges from the barracks, his windbreaker's light hood pulled up over his head so it'll shade even his long nose from the rain.
Nolee nods agreement with Cynara, seconding her praise of the bourbon brown. "I think it might make sense? And I hadn't thought like that--they're littles," as Nalaieth's behavior by bringing her paw down into the forming puddle with a big splash, coating herself as much or more than her playmates, then a dismayed croon as she drips damply, "and they need taken care of."
Cynara gets thoroughly splashed too. "Hey, be careful there, Nalaieth," she says with a giggle. Marsath glances at the gold again. Then...hrm. Splashing Cynara with water makes her giggle? That has to be a good thing, right? And thus, he's going to copy her, and /deliberately/ spray the small weyrling with water. And the fact that she can't help but laugh doesn't help the situation.
Nolee frowns, though she's laughing, too, shaking the water droplets free from her hair. "Ahhh," Nolee half-complains, though as Cynara's got the worst of it, it's a weak complaint lost in giggles. Nalaieth pulls her wings back to complain at the affont of being directed, and ends up pouring a cascade of puddled, collected water right down her own back. Her hiss toward Cynara transforms into a noise of startled surprise, and she snaps at the air, biting at the raindrops.
G'tive hums at Cynare, watching cansoth do a draconic version of a shrug and a headshake at Nalaieth, copying the behavior he'd seen earlier. The young dragon jams an oversized front paw into a puddle, splashing himself in the face, whether he failed at splashing his clutchmate or he did it on purpose is anyone's guess. He looks as flabbergasted as a dragon can, glances his head back to Gus then shoves his other paw into the puddle, watching the spray of water with uncanny interest. G'tive shakes his head, pulling himself from dragon thoughts with an obvious effort. "I never considered what it would be like to have a female in my head. Then again I never considered what it would be like with a voice in my head at all."
Cynara shakes her head. "I'm drenched now, Marsath," she points out with wry, amused affection. "And so are you." She glances at G'tive. "I had you pegged for brown, actually...pleased to see I'm right." She furrows her brow, and falls silent again, another of the long pauses that have punctuated this conversation.
I'sai pushes off the wall, at last, and wanders unhurriedly into the throng of dragonets and their riders: no sudden movements, certainly no running, no waving, no screaming. "Looks as though -they're- enjoying themselves," he mentions.
Nolee taps at the dragonet's muzzle, warningly. "Now look, you. Be nice to the others." Nalaieth does her best 'be nice,' by showing rows of teeth in a way that could be perceived to be smiling. "That's better. You know, I didn't either. I think when riders said they had a voice in their heads, I thought it was, well, rider-talk. Pretend long enough and it's less likely to make people stare than talking to yourself-like?" I'sai's words bring an "Evening, S'r."
G'tive grins at I'sai and then back at cansoth. "Personally, I'm havig a hard time not joining him." He almost starts to make a straight line to his dragon, eyes momentarily blurred when Nolee's sir brings him up short. "Uhm, sir." He looks almost pained while Cansoth looks at him idly splashing the same puddle.
Cynara shakes her head a little bit, it taking her a moment to recognize the weyrlingmaster's presence, "I don't...mind a bit of rain, sir." Marsath gives I'sai another of those almost dismissive looks, as if Cynara herself is the only thing that matters to him. She laughs after a moment, an easy laugh, relaxing as he seems to be off-duty anyway.
Nolee's not paying attention, then, when the dragonet licks at her fingers, until the girl pulls them away. "Hungry already?" A roll of her eyes, then she's spared as her bond decides instead to play in puddles again. Clumsy splashes are sent toward Cansoth, then toward Marsath, invitingly. "S'r-ing will come? Your brother's planning a visit? Oh, but that won't be any fun if he makes us do drills." Clearly the girl's got something scrambled.
I'sai's brows slant up - "None of 'em were -planning- on visiting, although I suppose it's the right time of Turn to do it. But nah, I wouldn't let them make you do drills; that's my job." While he gives Marsath a quizzical glance, it's hardly concerned, and in fact he grins at Cynara. "Good thing, considering you're here instead of Igen. Good to have you as a weyrling, by the way, even if he didn't get to be one of Taralyth's. Directly, at least."
Cynara smiles. "Wasn't the right time, I'sai," she says, quietly. One hand moves to rest on Marsath again, on the top of his head this time. "I had to wait for Marsath." She understands it now, although putting it into words might be a hard thing. "Just glad he managed to find me." The little blue whuffles at her. Not that he'll stay little for long.
Nolee tilts her head, taking a soaking from the tawny baby's misaimed efforts. "Hey," is before Nolee kicks across a puddle, sending a spray back at Nalaieth, who wails, notes the futility of that action, and strikes back with a well-aimed head-butt, enhancing the bruise on Nolee's thigh. "Ow." The girl's hands become a scritching-buffer, "Oh? They're welcome to visit, then, all your twins," is spoken with relief, "One of Taralyth's?" with puzzlement.
"Yeah." I'sai hesitates, just that little sideways grin at watching the blue pair. "Stood at Ista once, myself, after all." Still, he's on duty enough to glance back; "Twins? I've only the two, hardly overpowering. And aye, Cynara Stood for the clutch he sired on Cyrath, back at Igen. Though his weyrlings're his in a different way." - "You all right? Her bumping into you, like that."
Cynara nods. "Yeah, there were some good looking dragons in that clutch, but...none of them as special as Marsath." A beat. "Although I suspect every single rider says that, right?" She doesn't break the physical contact she seems to be seeking so much of right now, at least not yet.
"You have two twins?" Nolee's attention is more taken by this, though the connection that I'sai's Taralyth was the clutchfather for Cynara's Igen candidacy is also news. "You didn't say you knew him!" she starts to shake a finger, but that just spurs Nalaieth to nip at it playfully. "Sure, I'm okay. She's still learning her own strength." Another smile at Marsath's unique stripes, "He is special. Lucky you were there for him."
I'sai has to admit, "Pretty much." There goes that slantwise grin again, "You might say it's a survival trait, so we're that much inclined to put up with them - and be glad you're not privy to that snort of Tear's in my head just now." - "And learning her strength will take a while; if it gets to be too much, even if you're feeling -her- enjoying it, ramp it down. And yes. Both twins. They survived, quite nicely."
Cynara laughs. "I got a similar comment from mine. He's not tripping over me, at least." A pause. "He seems," she adds with amused affection, "To prefer his own wings for that." Marsath attempts to spread said-mentioned limbs...and nearly falls flat on his face. "See?"
Nolee looks dumbfounded: hers didn't seem to share the sentiment. "She said she puts up with me." A little smile, "Though she doesn't seme to mind much. Do the boys snort loud?" Nalaieth mimics a snort, choking on the inhaled rain and dragon-drooling, adding to the puddle she'd started earlier on Nolee's leg. "Ugh, that is just icky." The girl wipes the trail at the dragonet's mouth, cleaning her up. "Both of your twins survived? I've never heard of that. Your family must be huge!" Her surprise gives way to a smothered giggle at Marsath's tumble.
I'sai, since Marsath doesn't seem too troubled, just lets himself laugh; then, "Aye, well, he'll learn. Just ask him to watch out for the talons, please? The 'sails, they'll generally heal and it's not as though he's to be flying in the next sevenday, but no sense in letting him hurt himself." - "And as for snorting, Taralyth snorts loudly indeed, and yes, he says -he- puts up with -me-, but that's just one of the little things we've differed on since he broke shell. What else? Oh, right, twins. They don't both survive that infrequently; my weyrmate sired a set of twins on a woman who had triplets, though, and -that's- rare enough."
Cynara laughs. "Marsath insists he doesn't put up with me, that would imply I'm boring, which I'm not." She helps the hatchling steady himself. "He's being careful, he's just long in all directions and a bit ungainly. He even managed to step on his own tail earlier, but I don't think he'll be doing /that/ again."
Cynara laughs. "Marsath insists he doesn't put up with me, that would imply I'm boring, which I'm not." She helps the hatchling steady himself. "He's being careful, he's just long in all directions and a bit ungainly. He even managed to step on his own tail earlier, but I don't think he'll be doing /that/ again."
"Back when he was my weyrmate, aye," but I'sai's one-shouldered shrug doesn't invite further questions. Instead, as though he hadn't noticed any stiltedness at all: "How's her tail coming along? Hurting her any, or healing up just fine? And -good- on Marsath. Nothing wrong with a little overt appreciation now and again."
Cynara smiles. "How about all the time? He seems to never tire of complimenting me." She actually blushes a little bit. /She/ doesn't seem to be concerned about the gender of I'sai's weyrmate...too long at Weyrs, perhaps, to be bothered by it.
Nolee shifts her feet, which have been planted in a gradually-forming puddle, and doesn't pursue the subject further, perhaps taking a cue from Cynara's casual response. "Her tail?" Nalaieth croons lowly, vestiges of a sweet melody, flicking her bruised tail softly back and forth. "She's got a bent spot, but I poured heaps of oil there to help it get smooth." Then a smile toward Cynara, "Don't blush! He must really like you."
"Some inflammation - swelling, that is - is normal, but I'll check it tomorrow morning, maybe have Othos look at it," I'sai says matter-of-factly. "See how it goes. - And the convenient thing is that Marsath would know if you ever -did- tire of it, wouldn't he, Cynara?" A quick grin at her is followed by his mentioning, without ever turning around, "B'ryce's back; no hurry to get back inside, but clean up before you do." -Now- he turns around; now he goes, slapping hands with his assistant as a casual greeting when the two move past each other.
Cynara smiles. "Of course he does. He chose me." And it's as simple and straightforward, to her, as that. Marsath then yawns delicately. "He's tired...I'm going to take him back to his wallow. And probably crash out myself..." She does take time to make sure she doesn't track /too/ much rain and mud back into the barracks, though.
Nolee nods, reaching around her lifemate, or rather, scrabbling and tripping over the dragonet's lumpy body to reach her tail, she tries to feel it. "I can't tell--oh. Thanks!" She waves to B'ryce, allowing the rain to wash them both clean. "Us, too." And so ends their first full day as weyrlings.