Hatching of Aerianth and Volath's clutch, part 4: In the weyrling barracks
Corner of the Hatching Sands (COS)(#16904DJet)
The far corner of the Hatching Sands provides a quiet spot away from the chaos of the hatching clutch. Several Istan riders await here to assist the new weyrling pairs as they Impress, and there are several small buckets of fresh-chopped meat, one for each egg, for the weyrlings to feed their dragons as they head towards the barracks. You can 'look/out' to see the sands.
You walk to the far end of the Hatching Cavern.
Nalaieth walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Rocorth looks innocent. Aside from the little scrap of some unfortunate beast that's stuck to his largest left front tooth and hanging out the edge of his mouth, that is, he looks innocent. Negotiate? He settles for lifting his deep blue head and trying to twine his neck up the length of Eslyn's torso. You love me, baby. The bravado has only the tiniest chink - a meeting of her gaze with his, the slightest whirl of acceptance in the part of his facets that turn swirls of forest green.
Nalaieth inhales hungrily, and could her belly rumble any louder? This - this smell - this _meat_. Her tail swishes awkwardly behind her, and she winces a little before aiming for one of those tiny trick-or-treat buckets, only slowly enough to not lose her newfound lifemate entirely.
Nolee joins the other weyrling pairs, pausing in her dazed walk to notice first her friends and fellow weyrlings, then the smell, and presence of, piles of bloody meat. She waves, makes a face, then is playing catch-up, tripping over Nalaieth's tail. "Oops, sorry. You've got an awfully long one, you know. But I'm sure you'll grow into it. Do you want some of what's in there?" Observing others feeding their bonds, she hesitantly plucks up, then offers out, a tidbit. "Leave my fingers, okay?"
Nalaieth creels when her tail's knocked into, swinging her head around, but that meat seems to be more important. She starts to bite for the meat, but then she has to stop, and peer at the offered tidbit: which are the fingers, exactly?
"No." Eslyn's voice is stern as she starts to push the curling blue's neck away, "/No/. Don't you try this cute stuff on me until you agree - but with another look at him and seeing that look she gives a little sigh. "What -am- I going to do with you?" And its answered just as easily as her hands begin to skritch at the blue's headknobs and on down to his eyeridges with a practiced touch. She glances up as Scrambles joins them, "Shells and shards, woman. Am I going t'have to give you a new nickname now?" She asks as she greets the weyrling.
Ailisha walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Vieveth walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Nolee tries to reposition the meat so it dangles from her fingers, giving Nalaieth a hopeful smile of encouragement, trying to mimic the dragon's croon from earlier as though it might offer comfort. "Here, like this." She mimics eating the meat, though makes a face as it drips on her, "Ew, only hope you like it better. Try some."
Vieveth crowds along with her chosen, getting in the way, bounce, bop, bop, bounce. If she's hungry, and she is, she's gentle about it. Odd how her bouncey steps head her in the direction of...food.
Nalaieth holds what passes for dragon-lips far back from her teeth, showing very sharp and white, and endeavors to try a little nibble. Only once she gets it in her mouth, she attempts to gulp the whole thing, and then lick at Nolee's fingers for more flavor.
Rocorth is half-pushed away, but as soon as Eslyn's attention is drawn elsewhere he rumbles lowly, his chest vibrating against his weyrling's body even as he slumps back down onto all four paws. He flicks a surly look over his shoulder, lowering a sheer dark wing to do it, at that encroaching female - and not a green one, either. Again he grumbles, then nudges his head into his rider's thigh. Sulk.
From the ground G'tive reaches towards his lifemate, giving him a comforting scratch. "No, no, I'm fine. I just don't think we an wrestle like this for long, I'm always going to lose." He laughs and scratches at a certain spot his dragon had in mind.
Nolee gets Nalaieth to take her first successful bite, then gives Eslyn, or rather, Eslyn's lifemate, a wary wave of greeting. "Am I less scrambled now? And if she takes my fingers, you might get a new reason for Scarfist. Hehe, that tickles. Another?" The blue's sulk brings a worried face, as Nolee reaches into the bucket for another tasty snack. "Well done, Nalaieth! You didn't get me, even with those huge teeth." Gulp. "Can you manage him well enough? He looks dangerous. Still." At me.
Ailisha is right at her lifemate's brightly hued side, and while Vieveth seems inclined to shimmy her way in gently, Ailisha's concern for her borders on aggressive for the normally mild-mannered girl, "Excuse me, food, please, now? She's very hungry..." She twists back to her Vieveth, almost dwarfed by her bigger siblings in the barracks, "How could I do anything but?" she offers, stroking her fingers along the still somewhat gooey neckline of the springy green, "You eat first, love."
Vieveth bobs around in a lovely little rhythm, brushing against Ailisha's robe as she does so. She croon/creels, high ringing soprano rocketing off the walls, echo echo...
"Nan!" Eslyn cries a happy greeting to the incoming rider and green. "Look, Roc - its Nan. And..." The girl examines the green, "What's her name, Nan?" Then she lets both hands use up the energy that seeing Ailisha join them produces in scritching vigorously across the blue's head. "What're you moping about now? I told you I'd get you cleaned up soon if that's what you wanted. I just can't do it -now-. I'm not in charge." And the note in her voice has a lingering defined quality of 'yet' to it.
Nalaieth conveniently moves to wrap herself about her lifemate, if she can, to protect her from any vicious siblings as the young dragon tries that other bite. It might make it that much harder for Nolee to balance, but when are newborns ever aware of consequences?
K'tdan checks the status of a new green dragon weyrling pair, the former Benden Hold lad trying to keep the green from swallowing her food whole too quickly. "She'll get the hang of it," K'tdan says. He steps away from the pair, looking towards the Sands proper, smiling.
The world is truly spring in bloom for the lit up with ecstasy Ailisha as she secures her lifemate some meat from a bowl one of the weyrlingmasters brings over, "You took your time about telling me," she teases her lifemate, the affection in her voice making it thicken as she extends food out to her. As she watches the young green feed, she answers Eslyn (the only person to call her Nan, after all), "This is Vieveth," she calls over her shoulder, "Vieveth, that's Es back there, and her blue was Rocorth, wasn't it?" She, unlike Nolee, seems to have forgotten all about any earlier acts of violence.
Nolee teeters as the dragonet curls about her, patting her comfortingly until she is off-balanced enough to tumble right over. As her hand was in the treat-bucket at the time, several hunks of meat join her downward journey, splattering all over her robe and Nalaieth. "Aili!" she waves from the floor. "Or is your name Nan? I'm bad with names." Another slice of meat is extended, Nolee shaking it like a warning finger to the dragonet, "Careful! I could break. Good think I have heaps of padding."
Vieveth bobs her head politely, then tries to climb into Ailisha's lap, she's mall, she's newly born, it should work, right? Her head rests on her mate's chest lovingly, maw open so Ailisha can feed her easily.
Ista-Sands> Makare watches bronze and blue "Looks like it's all over now." no tears this time, nope Makare is smiling rather widely.
Rocorth looks - a bit reluctantly. He does slip out of his sulk when 'Nan's counterpart comes to light, however. A lash of his long tongue takes that stray scrap of meat into his mouth to get it out of the way so he can better grin his wide draconic grin at Vieveth.
Ailisha oofs slightly as she staggers back a step, but at this stage of the game, there's really little if anything that can dim her delight in her green girl, even stinky dragonbreath. Doling out another hunk of meat, she giggles again, her laughter making her sound almost Eslyn's age, though the new blueling hardly ever sounds quite as frivolous as the greenling does. "Aili's fine, Nolee, or Nan. Or Lish. Or anything."
Cynara walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Nalaieth rumbles happily at her Nolee as she munches on her new picnic on her new picnic blanket, i.e., the robe, and then snorts at Nolee and that meat-finger of hers. Drop it.
Marsath walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
M'yr walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Soldreth walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
K'tdan has an amused, almost knowing look when M'yr arrives with Soldreth. "Okay, here's a bucket of meat for your new lifemate. Slowly at first," he tells M'yr. "It is important not to let him gorge." Not that there's *that* much meat available.
Vieveth is disposed to be hungry and happy all at the same time. She hmmmms as she eats, and her wings flirt and flutter as if they're out of her control. She doesn't greedy-gobble, but her little abdomen rounds out nicely, none the less.
Marsath follows at Cynara's heels, his previously reddened eyes whirling a purple blue for a time while he momentarily forgets food in the wake of Impression to /his/ girl. He bumps his muzzle against her from time to time, as though he has to ensure himself that she's still right there, in the flesh.
I'sai walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
Jillah walks to one side of the Cavern, towards you.
K'tdan waves over the young blue. "Here food for Marsath, Cynara," he tells her. "Not too fast." He's very intent on getting this message across, apparently.
Nolee's lecture-mode is short-lived, the girl still seated on her backside and coated in meat-tidbits. Her eye widen fearfully at Nalaieth's rumble, and she drops the meat immediately, then exhales slowly. "You have to eat slow. That man says so." Trying to face her fear of the yellowy-gold creature, she fetches, then holds out more meat, one piece at a time.
Cynara keeps one hand close to the dragon, when he bumps at her, she rubs that nose, especially the little squiggle. It's almost as if Marsath has his own little curl to match the riot that surround his rider's delicate face. She guides him over to the food. "Not too...okay. No, love, we mustn't let you choke." Careful. Feed him slowly, make sure the pieces are small enough for new-hatched blue.
Nalaieth nibbles - well, not daintily - but with definite gusto. But she also waits for each piece to be dropped before she eats, unless Nolee argues the point, she croons.
M'yr walks slowly, carefully and bent over, his robe bunched upon his chest where the blood continues to flow. "Mind if I stop for just a second, Soldreth? I promise to do that real soon." He smiles, stopping to rest on a small stool, once again reaching out a shaking hand to the bronze. "I love your name."
Eslyn peers down at her lifemate - a touch on the suspicious side. "Oh don't tell me you've got a weakness for greens?" She sighs heavily. "This could complicate things." Almost as much as her weakness for a certain bronzerider who shall remain nameless. "I mean, how're you gonna wheel and deal unbiasedly? Next thing I know you'll be -- ugh. We won't go into it now." She starts to shove the blue head away from her in mock - and perhaps some ernest - frustration. "Goof." She mutters under her breath.
Marsath sits himself down right in front of his lifemate and creels, a hatchling sound that can mean only one thing: hunger. Luckily, she's already got that covered, so he takes those pieces each in turn, but at first doesn't get the chew command. Swallow, one down. Swallow, two down. Uh-oh, better /slow/ down.
Cynara smiles, and doesn't quite manage to send back to her blue silently, "/You/ are perfect, Marsath." She's still wondering if she can get a shirt to match his wonderful color. She keeps feeding him, though, keeping the speed of it even. Her eyes flick over to Eslyn, then...as if he were her anchor and compass...back to Marsath.
Old Tenney, the longtime Istan Healer, arrives. "Come on, young man, let me look at that," he tells M'yr, checking on the weyrling's injury. "Don't be so nosy, you," the Healer tells Soldreth tartly. He's not one to put up with unnecessary distractions. The old healer tsks. "That might leave a scar."
Nolee cooperatively drops each bit, far too admiring of the danger of those teeth to put up any fuss, though she does relax almost enough to laugh, and to see beyond that narrow muzzle to wave to Cynara, then to bloodied M'yr. "Ohh. Another injury. You and your siblings are dangerous. Especially that blue one with Eslyn." Wary looks his way.
G'tive is almost curled up in a heap with his Cansoth, the dragon rolled over on his back giving an inticing grin to the new dragonets around him. Soth looks around wistfull the back ti his new partner in crime. "Oh, I don't think you get to do that for awhile, but I coukd be wrong..."
Rocorth is dangerous. Perhaps he understands Nolee's remark - he gives her a nice view of his open maw. Or else that's a sudden yawn. His teeth clack loudly as the yawn snaps closed, and while he continues to eye Ailisha's better? half through one whirling eye, the other is tilted toward Eslyn in adoring bemusement.
Nalaieth looks over at Rocorth too, snorts all at once, and then she yawns too. Only hers is bigger. Because she's bigger. Unless it's just the angle? She leans over her Nolee to get a better look at that Rocorth and see.
Cynara grins at Marsath, "Because, you have to break it down small enough, or it might get stuck halfway down, and you'll get hurt. Please. Chew." She can't bear the thought of him getting hurt. "You just are the best shade of blue." Apparently, she can't get over that.
Marsath pauses in his voracious swallowing for a moment to ponder his Cynara's explanation. Apparently he considers it a good one, because in spite of still reddened eyes, he immediately begins tossing in a few chews before each gulp.
Tenney works quickly to stitch the wound, redwort and numbweed applied expertly. "Keep your nose out of my business," the old healer commands the young dragonette. "You'll be fine," he tells M'yr as he wipes his hands with a red-stained towel. "You'll have a scar better than that of a score." Tenney then goes to check on I'ril's less urgent wound.
M'yr lifts up his robe for the healer, shaking from the pain and excitement. As he watches Soldreth, he nods. "He didn't mean it, he was just excited, sir. I shouldn't care if it scars, if it's from him." Sighing, he watches Tenney, then looks about the area. "I can find you something. I think."
Cynara chuckles a bit at that. "The white is clothes...humans wear things over their bodies. You'll get to wear straps, eventually, when you're big enough, so that you don't have to worry about dropping me when you fly," she explains to the hatchling. There's...a subtle glow of radiance on her face. Almost akin to the glow that comes upon some women during pregnancy.
I'sai keeps an eye on Tenney, even though that man's been doing his job for maybe longer than the weyrlingmaster's been alive; he moves among the other pairs, and says, "Soon as they're patched up enough to travel, we'll head out towards the barracks. This isn't the time to introduce your dragons to your pals; wait till your dragon's fed the rest of the way, washed up, oiled and asleep. And if -you're- still awake too, -then- you can go out, eh? Priorities." Never the same again.
Eslyn bats a hand towards Rocorth's muzzle lightly - playfully. "Aw, he's harmless, Scrambles. Really. Big cuddly lug from what I can tell. Leastways he's not gonna hurt you." Which seems to remind her, and she glances around for I'ril. "You did sort of get him when you were looking for me. Maybe that's why she thinks you're --- well, whatever? 'Sides. You're the handsomest one here anyhow." Again that assertion of Roc simply being the best and that being that. "And yeah, sure as shards takes one to know one - speaking of which... well, I'll tell you about that a bit later." She grins lop-sidedly.
Nolee flattens herself on the floor, avoiding any threats from those huge and frightening teeth as the maws are compared. "Ugh, you've got horrible breath, too." On a whim, she reaches up to tickle Nalaieth's neck and underbelly, distraction welcome from the dangers of dragon-claws. "Careful not to squish!" Nolee tries to wriggle free, catching sight of Cynara and her Marsath. "Ooo, he is beautiful." I'sai's words have her reaching for more meat, dropping this time toward those open jaws.
Jillah watches...I'sai. Not the dragons, not their new lifemates. She studies the Weyrlingmaster with a steady, unrevealing stare. One booted foot taps on the ground, one hand toys with the knot that hasn't lost its newly-looped stiffness.
Nalaieth immediately starts squirming, and look, she has large paws as well as a large maw. Nolee is able to get free, but in her surprise at having the chunk dropped more directly, she half-chokes.
Dragon> Nalaieth bespoke you with << !!! >>
K'tdan has been through this all before, so he just stands in the background, ready to assist when needed. Otherwise, he's just ready to put the kids to bed and enjoy the festivities. He watches I'sai for his lead.
Marsath is chewing more and more slowly, now settled into a steady pattern that has completely eliminated his hurried bolting of a few moments ago. The thought of straps doesn't seem to sit well with him, for he stretches his wings out as though working to keep them free of any confinement.
Rocorth rumbles lightly and flips his wings - strewn with dried goo as they still are - up along his back like sails on a ship. He tips his head up high, showing off the expanse of his midnight throat: that's right, I'm all that and more - you don't know what you're getting into, looking so close at me. Eslyn's words surely only serve to further stroke his ego, and after a moment all that boosting leaves him hungry enough to twine about - body becoming a hogtie for his rider - and seek that bucket with his muzzle again.
Cynara smiles. "I'm happy because you found me," she tells the blue, quietly. "And don't worry, the straps won't interfere with your wings. They'll make it easier to fly fast, because they'll keep /me/ right where I belong."
Which, in a few short months, will be between those currently so-small neckridges. She's...in some way...in love.
And I'sai checks on each in turn, taking his time; if he's aware of being watched, he doesn't show it. At length he calls out, his tenor light by nature but pitched to carry, "Last bite! Jillah, you take point; K'tdan, make sure nobody straggles. H'rel, B'ryce," and he waves them to pick sides before off they go.
Soldreth butts his head against M'yr, not too impatient but from the red hunger in his eyes, he's trying might hard to pull it off. Of course, that little head-butt turns into a bit of a friendly rub.
Jillah turns on her heel, and heads out. The walk to the barracks isn't that far, but when people are dazed and drunk on elation, and dragonets are tiny...well...she keeps her stride rather shorter than normal.
M'yr reaches to skritch Soldreth's headknobs as the other clutches the darkened robe. He stands, wobbling with the effort, then tries a smile to his lifemate. "I think they want us to move?"
"Nooooo, Rocorth. No more. Not now. You didn't bargain. Besides, its time to go get you cleaned up I think." Eslyn replies, nudging his head with her knuckles. Then she carefully tries to disentangle herself so they can follow the Weyrlingmasters.
M'yr's hand droops, just low enough to catch a headknob or two as they walk. "Not so much. And yeah, I know it was an accident. There's food where we are going." He sounds confident, leaning forward to walk slowly, as they move into the barracks. "C'mon along, now."
I'sai shoos them on, chivvying on a brown that's flitty as a firelizard, or maybe that's just his lifemate.
Nolee halts entirely, apologetically petting the compact form of the dragonet near the dark part of her smoky sails. "Oops. You're the most beautiful, of course, Nalaieth." Hopefully, she starts to follow the others toward the barracks, hoping the dragonet hasn't changed her mind.
Weyrling Barracks -- Ista Weyr(#1338RAFLs)
This huge cavern is one in a long series along the north wall of the encircling mountain, all generally rounded in shape. Massive tunnels connect the caverns, each of which contains groups of large stone couches. Each couch has a corresponding glowbasket, and more baskets are scattered around the remaining spaces. The northern wall opens up into something resembling a stage area, in front of which are lines of oil vats and meat tubs. To the east is a well-drained area where fresh carcasses are hung each day. Slate boards and samples of various gear are spread around the cavern, mute witness to the organized chaos of the barracks.
The huge entrance in the south part of the cavern leads out into the northwest side of the bowl, while the east and west exits issue into caverns similar to this one in function and form.
A line of large vats along the northern wall of the barracks. Some contain freshly-killed meat, some contain oil. Drudges fill the vats almost constantly, as the weyrling pairs deplete them.
One of the browns is already snoring over on his couch, a worn much-bigger-dragon-sized depression in the stone; his rider slouches against his lifemate's neck, eyes dazed, jaw hung open just a little.
From afar, M'yr woots and just read! Eminem! Soldreth comes from the word 'soldier', inspiried by Eminem's view of himself as evident in his song of the same title. He's a fighter and certainly not afraid of a struggle. We also like the similarity to 'solder' and the imagery of sparks and fire that it evokes. And like metal under those circumstances, your Soldreth can be stubborn, unpredictable and dangerously bright.
Cynara didn't make it to the celebration. She's a curled up little bundle of Cynara, with her dragon a curled up little bundle of blue right next to her. Both of them, are fast asleep.
I'sai straightens from copper-greened Akurath to scan the cavern. The door to the weyrlingmaster's office is shut, for once, possibly to keep out the smell from the couple little piles of muck that have already been made and not yet shoveled up. From outside, the air is fresh, and there are distant sounds of celebration. A few well-wishers still greet their friends and offspring whose dragons snooze within.
Jillah talks quietly with H'rel, lounging out of the way. They both look a little worn, sweat-dampened clothing clinging to them, half-dried already. She studies the little heaps of dragons and weyrlings, and frowns slightly, eyes a little wary before she looks back away.
Nolee has reached the oiling stage, and is attempting to understand exactly what one does with the paddle and the giant vat of oil. Standing on the stage area raises her height somewhat, and she's leaning precariously over the edge. "Guess I can't get any dirtier," leads the dipping of her hands right into the vat, pouring the oil onto the paddle and dripping it onto the floor. "Okay, who's next?" Her gaze falls on Nalaieth, hopeful. "You had enough to eat now?"
Nalaieth sniffs disinterestedly at the oil but doesn't show any signs of wanting to wriggle herself up in it, even if it would make her lifemate's job a whole lot easier. Her eyes spin green and blue and green again, and then the little queen burps.
Rocorth has been cleaned, dried, oiled from muzzle-tip to tail by this point, Eslyn having wasted absolutely no time in solving her lifemate's itching problems. The girl is settled beside the blue on his couch for now, watching him and stroking him as he dozes off, a soft smile touching her lips.
Nolee laughs, figuring Nalaieth's belch is indication that she's not going to come closer, so the blonde does the next best thing: coating her hands and arms and the paddle in oil, and tromping across the floor to go to her. "You've got it well-off," she tells Eslyn, "Yours is smaller. Less work." The oil is poured, dripping, over the raw sienna gold's head and back. "That's right. Best to get the air out and not have it stop up the works later."
Cansoth is now listening.
I'sai's wanderings eventually take him Eslyn's way, conveniently, and he hunkers down with his forearms resting on thighs. "You can stay with him all the time, by the way, don't have to sleep in the cot. A lot of people don't want to be separated, especially right off." He turns, and smiles just slightly. "At least we riders don't have to start out with dragons the final size, so we can - get used to it. At least a little."
Your location's current time: 23:23 on day 1, month 1, Turn 55, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter evening.
And as the oil pours down, Nalaieth looks up into it... only to have to blink, blink, blinkety-blink some more. Her bruised tail swishes, catches on stone, and she winces in a shudder of wings, outer lids now squeezed shut over her eyes. Will she even ever open them again?
M'yr has found a spot on the floor where he's curled on his side, mainly to keep the stitches from being stretched. Soldreth lays in the arc of M'yr's body, keeping his wound warm - only in keeping since he was the one who inflicted them. Both slid into sleep, exhausted, light snores heard, but one? Both? Hard to tell.
Eslyn's expression is quietly contemplative - appearing not to hear the Weyrlingmaster's words, but after a moment she responds so evidently they were heard and absorbed. "I'm not sure he'd like that. I'll prolly stay here-ish, but not right against him. It'd look bad for his image, y'know." She then turns to look up at the man and grins. "'Sides, not sure how it'd look fer me neither. I mean, might seem like I got a soft side or something." She winks and then looks down at Rocorth. Satisfied that he's sleeping, she rises carefully. "Am I allowed to go and get changed, sir? Or are our things being brought here for us? Because I'm pretty sure they won't be able to find some of my stuff..."
Jillah smiles faintly, as H'rel passes her a little package, clumsily wrapped, and she fishes in her pocket for her own, easily as fumblingly covered. "Happy Turnday," she murmurs, and the older rider smiles, his hard-edged profile melting a little. "And you, Jil." She turns to regard the vista again, "Happy Turnday, doubly, little ones."
"For his - image." I'sai can't help but look dubious, but not so much he can't grin at her, for that last joke especially. "Aye, a couple of sets of clothes - see those presses there? past H'rel? they're not too exact on size, though, not knowing who'll wind up here - and you'll definitely need a washdown. Nowhere like the sands for sweating. For now, there's a water barrel behind the curtain in the back, since we don't want you to go too far from your dragons just yet; splash as best you can."
Nolee closes her own eyes for a moment, and one oil-covered hand goes to her backside, planting a firm stain on the filthy robe. "Ow!" Squeaking open her eyes, she quickly rubs the oil away and down Nalaieth's narrow muzzle, across those dark blots on her neckridges, and away from her eyes. "A little at a time is good," she mournfully agrees. "Otherwise, I couldn't keep up." Peering at the dragonet's tail, she frowns. "Cause you hid stuff?" is queried of Eslyn, though anything further is turned into a jubilant, "Happy first turnday, Nalaieth. And all of your siblings, too."
Nalaieth still doesn't open her eyes, but at Nolee's touch, she croons and rubs into the caresses, boneless and delighted.
>> Nalaieth, in your mind, -ripples- in velvety question, though it takes a moment to reveal the source: << 'Turnday'? What is that? >>
Eslyn raises her brows a bit, "Bathe?" No one told her that good hygene was part of this bargain. "But I'm not dirty, sir." Now, that's been her excuse for since she's been old enough to talk - so why change now? "But I'll get changed into pants. Better'n these dressy things." Then she flicks her aqua gaze over to Nolee, "'Course its 'cause of my hidden stuff. What else would it be because of? You got stuff you want me to grab for you?" Then she cants her head and looks at the Weyrlingmaster. "Those clothes you said are back there --- those are our uniforms, right?"
I'sai notes dryly, without arguing the matter of sweat-stench right at the moment, "I wouldn't count on anything staying private in the barracks, though of course we'll _try_ - " He raises his voice slightly. "Jillah? Make a note, please, to let the headwoman know that there's certain, ah, -hidden- stuff to be squared away." Turning back, "Nah, not going to get leathers anytime soon. Pants. Shirts. That sort of thing. A knot."
Nolee rubs the dragonet's hide, oooing softly as the places that are curled up become accessible, and she pools oil into those indents. "It's the day you were hatched out. And it marks time passing for us. Somehow. With the planets and stuff." Her bumbled explaination complete, she nods eagerly to Eslyn, "Please! I'd love the manicure set under my cot, and some clothes, and my knapsack. All my things are in it, and if you bring it, you can pick something out to keep."
Jillah duly makes said note, willing little helper that she is, "Check. Hidden stuff. Hopefully not the spoilage type. It'll be ripe and rank in here soon enough." And then she ohs, innocently, "But it's not in here, is it? One wouldn't want...hidden stuff in such a public environment."
>> Nalaieth promptly repeats these concepts after her, adopting a similar tone to Nolee's own voice, << Hatched? >> And then, << Time? >> And of course, << Planets? Manicure? Cot? Clothes... >> and then it gets all drifty and warm and oh, Nolee's touching her, it's very, very good, do that some more.
Eslyn frowns a bit, "You mean I can't go and get them myself, sir? Right quickly I mean - from the barracks?" The expression deepens slightly. "'Cause if I can't there's no point in tellin' Headwoman Lyss. She'll never find some of it." Not that this weyrling would want all of it to be found by certain authority figures anyways. "And I wasn't meaning leathers, sir. Mam said that back when she was a weyrling they had to wear these awful orange and black uniforms all the time - same thing with Da. I've been mostly fostered most of the last couple turns and haven't taken note, so I guess things've changed then, sir? No ugly uniforms we have to wear?"
"No," I'sai says matter-of-factly, rising; he slides a grin to Jillah, just long enough for her to see, even if others might manage to eavesdrop. "You'll be staying here. And as to -those- uniforms, well, you'll get some orange later on, but mostly it's brown. We've better use for a black dye, I figure, especially with it soaking up heat the way it does." And any other uniforms? He nods 'round and makes his way along to visit another pair.
Nolee grows more suspicious after Jillah speaks, hesitating, watching Eslyn for cues. "Can we leave it there until later? Or are there more candidates who'll go and get in--" Her hand touches her own head, then her own lips, then she stares at the dragonet, startled praise, "That's my voice! You sound like my voice!" Extra rubbings, and a return for more oil, are in order. "Uniforms? Orange ones? Ugh. Better than black in the heat, though."
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Jillah bestirs herself, heading to a locker where she pulls out thin coverlets, and some pallets. These she passes out, "It gets cold on the stone. You'll be wanting to sleep soon, I've no doubt."
Nolee finishes the ministrations on the long-tailed curious dragonet at last, and by that point, she's exhausted enough to put off the bath for another day, instead gratefully taking one of the offered pallets. "I could just sleep right here," she yawns, spreading out the pallet near Nalaieth's bruised tail protectively, then settling down on it. "I can barely keep my head up." So she sets it down, against her new lifemate's side.
Jillah pulls out a cot, settles on it, and leaves H'rel to keep watch, for this first night.