Weyrling haircuts and a flaming demo!

[noleepackrat]

Nolee, Cynara, H'rel, Jillah, G'tive, Aiemera, I'sai

(entered midscene)

H'rel
Standing just over six feet tall, the sight of H'rel is notable less for his height or musculature, than he is by the piercing gaze his bright blue eyes tend to show so clearly. Dark black hair, slightly curled hangs only partway down the back of his neck, trimmed properly for wearing beneath a riding helmet. His face is quite rounded, with a strong jawline almost hidden by the somewhat softer curves of his face. His build is solid, from nearly two decades of his life being spent in constant battle with thread, and the evidence of this can be seen most strikingly on his left forearm, where the deep scarring of threadscore has left a twisted mass of scarring from an injury turns ago.
His clothing is the most utilitarian affair, a pair of pale brown trousers and an equally pale green tunic are the base upon which nearly no adornments are placed. Other than a pair of oversized belt knives at his waist, sheathed in simple, unornamented wherhide. Aside from a fresh looking pair of heavy wherhide boots, the only other thing he wears is his shoulder knot marking him as an Assistant Weyrlingmaster at Ista Weyr with a deep brown thread woven in between Ista's colors.
H'rel appears to be 36 Turns, 1 months, and 1 days

From afar, H'rel holds his hands in front of himself, fingertips spread apart as he makes a rising gesure, then curls his fingers away from the center of himself to the sides, indicating a flight path, "The flare's a rather impressive one, when the wings are trying to make themselves known to a holding, never fails to gather a crowd for any speaking to follow." The older rider moves from his spot to walk a wide circle around the bronze and green, examining the interaction between the two of them before M'yr's leg is swatted.

"Of course," Jil says with a faint smile, as she finishes her inspection/scritching of the green, "there's another Istan tradition that all the weyrlings must take part in, during the first seven day."

Cynara lifts her head, the blue's now settled in her lap. "Uh oh," she voices. Marsath realizes there are lots of people here, he regards them with whirling eyes, but most of his focus seems to be and remain on Cyna.

Soldreth gets up from his place at M'yr's feet to toddle after H'rel, staying at a safe distance but directly behind him, another sharp creel given to the form, then one for the man who doesn't stop when he tells it to. Finally, he himself pauses, lays down, and keeps watch on the man-figure he's been stalking.

H'rel turns his head to look down at the trailing bronze dragonet as he's called to, "He's going to be a handful." the man says as he turns to M'yr, "You're likely going to need to work extra hard to keep him in line as he grows." is suggested.

Nolee returns from a short scrubbing behind the curtained-off area, fastening the bottom few clasps of her blouse closed, finding Nalaieth nosing at one of the food barrels. Cooperatively, she heads that way, hand dipping in and food dancing in the air, then dropped to the floor to be played with. "What is?" she wonders.

Jillah heads to a locker, and returns with an assortment of rider's helmets. "Tiny, small, medium, large, fat-head...er extra-large." She holds them up in turn, and then tosses them out onto the middle of the floor. "I want each of you to practice getting one that fits on your head in 10 heartbeats. "I think you'll figure out what comes next after you try that."

Cynara stands up the rest of the way. She starts to head towards the weyrlingmasters, followed by the blue. Who trips over his own wings getting up, she turns to help him. "Careful there, Marsath," she says, affectionately. "And yes, I know. They /are/ rather long."

M'yr dutifly rises, nodding to H'rel after mock-glaring to Sol. "He means well, sir." is all he replies, though he doesn't seem all too sure of that himself. Going to the center of the floor, he drops onto one knee, reaching slowly with the usual grimace as he bends to get a helmet. "Shards, hope I find one in the first try." he mutters, free hand going lay to the bandages of his chest.

Nolee reaches the non-bloody hand up to brush back her damp hair, tucking it into her shirt until the fastener is retied. Nalaieth nudges at the dropped meat bit, batting at it with her wide paw and slapping it across the floor: game? Nolee leaves the dish to do as she's told, stifling a yawn, trying to watch where 'small' and 'medium' roll after being tossed. "You can have mine if I get a big one," she tells M'yr.

Soldreth is immediately up and in motion, fast as his legs can carry him toward M'yr. Too fast, he flops, then skids, bumping several helmets til he comes to a halt at M'yr's bent knee. Shaking his head to clear it, he cranes to peer at M'yr then warbles in triumphant tones at his gathering feats.

Jillah watches, patiently enough, but her hand is tapping against her thigh in a rather rhythmic manner.

H'rel grins somewhat as he watches the group assembling, a bit slowly to the task before he looks to Jillah, "You're being particularly heartless for their second day." he offers before giving a nod to M'yr, "Yes, I'm certain he does. I've never met a dragon with truly ill intent, but I've met several that simply did not pay.." he pauses as Marsath's tripping is noticed, "... attention."

Cynara moves to try and find a helmet. It takes her two attempts, perhaps because she seems a bit distracted. Marsath has got his wings straightened out, but is still watching her intently. See, he pays attention to what's important. Which would be Girls With Curly Hair and not much else.

"That's not my intention," Jillah comments as she settles back on her bale of rags. "I just thought that if they had a pratical demonstration of helmet donning, they'll understand why the first week tradition exists, and that it's not just to make people cry while it's going on."

Nolee gets ahold of a helmet, though Nalaieth is has batted her food tidbit toward them, and is entertained by Soldreth's game of roll-the-helmet, as she regards them with solemn consideration. The helmet is held aloft over Nolee's head, the blonde studying its interior for signs of a dragonrider joke kept inside. Not finding any, she tugs on the helmet. "We're ready!" Nalaieth nudges her muzzle into a helmet, though it won't stay on. She's ready, too!

M'yr has a few more helmets to try, thanks to Sol's intervention. He stifles a laugh, then skritches the dragon's headknobs with affection. "Yes, very good. Very helpful. Now I have several to choose from and not far to look. Well done!" When he looks over to H'rel, he rolls his eyes at the dragon-antics then smiles before going back to the task. "I'd appreciate it if you'd toss one of those large ones my way, Nolee, if your aim would be good enough to bap Sol. Er, I mean miss Sol." He winks to her then grins.

G'tive enters to barracks panting, he stops near the entrance, knees slightly bent with hands on them and lets his head hang low while he tries to catch his breath. Cansoth follows closely behind, close enough that he runs right into his lifemate, knocking the young man to his knees. Instead of trying to stand back up he slinks to the ground with a groan. "What was I thinking..." Cansoth huffs into Gus' face and then flops onto the ground nearby, is he mocking or imitating his rider? It's obvious the brown is no where close to tired.

"Now, when you put a helmet on..." Jillah looks towards H'rel with a silent message there, "H'rel will show you how it has to fit. I'm going to get a little something for a demonstration..."

H'rel nods at Jillah's comment, before turning himself to notice G'tive and Cansoth, "Good evening, G'tive." the older man offers in greeting, before motioning to where the others are trying to pick helmets. "If you'd care to gather yourself from the ground and join the others, perhaps you can find yourself a proper helmet as well." he says with arms still folded across his chest.

Nolee ducks, coming up with another helmet, though her own choice slips down over her eyes. She pushes it back, not knowing how they should fit, and granny-throws the helmet toward M'yr and above Soldreth, and another rolling across the floor toward G'tive where he's landed. "We get hats!" Nalaieth bounds toward Nolee, sliding across the floor and scattering the helmets.

M'yr lifts a hand carefully, ringing the helmet Nolee threw easily. He grins his thanks to her, trying it on. "Perfect. Well, just a little too big, but I'll grow into it.", he calls over then cautiously gets up from his knee to standing. Sighing, a quick flicker of pain flashes across his face then it's forceably replaced with a smile. "Ready."

Jillah heads off to the locker again, and comes back with a weird looking thing. It's a bust, crude, made of clay, with a shaggy lass of hair on it, and a helmet over the top of it, so that hair is hanging out. She then picks up a pair of tongs, and picks up a small ember from the little stove that keeps klah and soup warm and such, and then...drops it on the hair that's showing from under the helmet. I'm sure you can imagine the results.

Cansoth nudges at G'tive with a large paw and then nips at a loose thread on his shirt. "Up, up... yes." He's still panting, face noticably flushed.

Reaching for the helmet Nolee had slid his way he tries to put it on but the thing won't even fit over the top of his head. "Seems... I got *huff*... a child's helm*cough*et." Not even bothering to get up from his knees he crawls over to the pile, grabs one that actually fits, if a bit snug. White curls now plasterd to his face peek out in a disarray from under the helmet. (G'tive)

Soldreth is ready for the game that Nalaieth's playing. Leaving his lifemate, he waddles extra fast toward her, creeling loudly - as if she wouldn't know he was coming. Gotta make sure! Once again, too fast, too uncoordinated, he's flopped and sliding straight for her tail. Muzzle impact, dead ahead, right into a goldbutt! Whoof.

H'rel looks between the various weyrlings as each manages to fit his or her helmet, "If there's hair exposed, it's merely food for thread. And it will tangle. And not only thread, but the occasional errant flame. Especially when you're young." he explains, looking over at the rather well-singed hair that Jillah demonstrates.

Nolee tilts her head, frowing around the overlarge helmet. "You'll grow into it?" Though her words toward M'yr quiet at the firey demonstration, Nolee gasping, then eewing at the smokey smell, mild distaste in her expression. "Do we all have to have our hair burnt off?"

Nalaieth is delighted at the play companionship, and she hunches down over her paws invitingly until she's bumped in her pained tail. She creels, then whips her head around toward her backside and bares her teeth, hissing at the bronze.

Cynara tugs off the helmet. "Cut short. Most Weyrs do it, I believe...fortunately, I don't think I'll have to lose much." She then falls silent, developing that 'talking to dragon' look, in fact, one suspects she's only half following the lesson, much of her attention caught up in her lifemate.

M'yr's hand extends, like as not that would do nothing to stop Sol as he completes his misdirection. "Oh, for sharding sake, Sol, is there nothing you wouldn't do to upset people? Tell her you're sorry and ask if she's hurt." Grumbling, it's only then that he goes back to the helmet. "Well, that's one way to get rid of the hair, eh?"

"No one ever explained to us why we had to have our hair cut," Jil said, "They just said, cut it or we will. I thought that perhaps if you saw a demonstration of -why- it's necessary, those of you who love your long locks, like I did, won't feel like it's an arbi arb...just out of nowhere punishment. We can do it several ways: You cut each others, you cut your own, or we get that nice laundress in that several of the older riders pay to trim theirs. Up to you."

Soldreth's reaction is something like M'yr's suggestion but not quite. Lowering, he places his head to rest on his forelegs, the most resigned of positions, and stays quiet for a moment then offers an apologetic croon, adding a push with his hindquarters and back legs to sneekily move toward her.

Nolee gulps, the hair-lighting still not so appealing, though she's rather reassured by Jillah's explanation. "How short? Touching the helmet?" Her damp hair clings to her shoulders and back, dripping slightly. A wince, then an encouraging glance to Nalaieth, who has taken up a mock-attack pose over the head-bent Soldreth. Maw still open wide, she 'rawrs' most angrily, though it comes out more like a lion cub's cheeping complaint.

M'yr smacks the side of his pants, a warning signal to Sol that he's pushing limits. "Hey!" he calls out to him as he reaches up for the helmet. Like his little lifemate, he too reaches far too quickly, action tugging at the stitches under his bandage. Redness slowly finds its way through the white cloth, staining it more. "Good. Just what I need." he mutters to himself, then calls again, "Sol!"

"It needs to fit under the helmet," Jil says. "Now I've seen riders who braid and curl and twirl, and what you do once you're graduated and your wingleaders do or don't care is up to you. But...another nice thing about it being short, it's easy to wash. You're going to be so very very tired, and sore, and did I mention tired? The less you need to wash, the sooner you'll be able to rest, or get to bed." She smiles in a sympathetic manner, grabs the hair from the clay bust and tosses it in a small basin of water. Ewww, wet burned hair.

Jillah nods in agreement to Cynara.

G'tive shrugs, he doesn't seem worried about cutting a few extra inches from his hair, he doesn't seem worried about much other than catching his breath. "Never try to wear out a dragon," he comments once his breath is restored. Cansoth looks towards the ceiling, one would think with that posture if a dragon could whistle, he'd be doing it now.

H'rel looks between the weyrlings, a small frown given as he spots the stain spreading on M'yr's chest, "I'm going to have a healer come look at that." he remarks before glancing to Jillah, listening to her explanation with a little grin, "The less time it takes to wash, the less complaining you'll get from your own lifemates when their own needs require tending. Especially at this age." he agrees, before looking to G'tive and offering a word of caution, "And never assume that a dragon has limitless energy. They do not, as you'll be discovering soon enough."

As has been habit as of late, Aiemera and Arukath aren't immediately visible. Until at least the later of the pair makes her appearance. Stalking appearance at that. Tail lashing behind her, head swinging just slightly, Arukath slides from her and Aiemera's hiding spot. The former, Aiemera herself, arrives seconds later. Arukath walks ahead of her, Aiem slipping along quietly behind. Greetings are withheld as Aiem rubs at her face, her eyes slightly downcast upon the stone floor.

Nolee shakes her finger at Nalaeith, who turns the hiss Nolee's direction, though she leaves off pestering Soldreth to come lick at Nolee's meat-juicy fingers. "M'yr! You should rest more." A woeful glance to the weyrlingmaster's staff, and to Cynara, "Sounds like we'll need it. Wear out the dragon?" Nolee steps toward G'tive's side. "I think he wore you out this time. Wanna cut each other's hair all off?"

Jillah gathers up the helmets, her demonstration equipment, and stuffs them all back in the locker. "I'll go check with the laundress, see what she's willing to do, if any of you are interested in that. Sleep well, little ones. Dream good dreams, get strong..."

Soldreth's not appearing to pay attention until his head jerks, cranes to look behind him at M'yr, then gets up to move to his side. Attention off his playmates, he rubs against his human's leg, looking up at him to send off what seems to be a serious croon.

M'yr nods to Nolee, "I think I'll do that now, actually. Thanks for the helmet. Mine will be cut, Jillah. Soon. And H'rel, I'm fine, really. It does this. I just have to change the cloth." That said, he and Sol move away to find a good place to rest. "You gotta be nice to them, don't you know that? Be careful.." His voice lowers as they both leave the area to a quieter spot.

H'rel watches M'yr walk back to his couch with Soldreth, and looks first to Jillah then the other weyrlings gathered nearby, "I expect to be informed if that one does not follow the instruction he was given." he says sternly as M'yr departs, "He's to follow the healer's instructions when one arrives, without questioning. And I will expect the same obedience from the rest of you." he cautions, letting his eyes meet each nearby Weyrling's in turn before turning to Jillah again, "I think I'm done here as well, other than going for the healer."

Arukath halts at the fringe of the crowd, tail still lashing as she turns to look steadily at Aiemera. In turn, the weyrling simply shakes her head and folds her arms against her stomach as she sinks upon the nearest couch. A yawn escapes, uncaught and uncovered. Still silent, it seems she's more then content to stay at the back.
Unseen. However long Arukath lets such pass is known only to the dragon as she turns back 'round to stare at the crowd before her.

G'tives face has returned to a nearly normal color, though he looks a bit foolish with random locks of hair plastered to his face. He tugs off the helmet only to reveal a very flattering, alright maybe not, helmet hair style. "Cut your hair, are you sure you want me to do that? Maybe if you leave the hemlet on I can trim around it?"

Cynara nods to Nolee. "That works. I just refuse to try my own. You shouldn't have to take much off...I don't grow it long because it always ends up looking like I don't take any care of it." She reaches up to brush it back a little.

Jillah walks out of the huge opening and into the bowl.

H'rel walks out of the huge opening and into the bowl.

Nolee casts a sidelong glance to the tall assistant as M'yr moves to rest, quickly averting her eyes as the group is included in his comments about obedience. She turns her back to G'tive, presenting her hair for easy cutting, and kneels on the hard stone floor. "Cynara, come closer? I'll cut yours, then you cut--" bringing Aiemera into view. "Aiemera! Hallo!" Arukath's tail movement draw her eyes as well. "She wriggles often. Does she like to dance?"

Arukath
Verdigris has claimed this dragon's hide, occluding a warm sheen that flashes beneath like the auroral glow of copper. As it fades around her belly and stretches across graceful wingsails, the color is unmarred but for that faint glimmer of ruddy light. Pale, powdery green is thickest as it accumulates about her neckridges and sculpted headknobs with an opaque softness. She's more striking than classically beautiful, sinuously lissome, fine boned and subtly muscled. A cuprous blaze appears to have been scratched through the pale patina to reveal a gleam of copper on her forehead, adding to the almost fierce, defiant intensity of her gaze, a nearly hypnotic pairing of whirling facets and that still fire above them. Her every movement appears consciously calculated to add to this effect, like a clever performer trying to work the spotlight and coyly lure an audience under her spell.

A small, tight-lipped smile is Aiemera's greeting. The feline must just have her tongue, or Arukath does, for she opens her maw and loosens a shrill creel. Through whatever part in the fringe is apparent, the dragon moves through it toward the center of the room. Her walk is a saunter-stalk that's more sloppy then not, yet Arukath wouldn't seem to notice such. After several moments, Aiemera finally stands and follows after her dragon, her head meekly bowed as she passes by people. "She needs to eat... 'scuse me."

The laundress Jillah had called for bustles quickly into the cavern, a basket with a sheet, a handbroom, and a few sheers is carried under her left arm. "Oh look, such smart weyrlings we have this Turn! Well then if you're all set to cut eachother's hair I'll just leave these here for you." She sets the basket down and points at it giving commands as she touches each thing in the basket with a long pointed finger. "Sit on the sheet, that way you can clear the mess off easier, the broom is for your clothes and any stray bits, and I hope you know what the shears are for." G'tive waves a hand, trying to grab her attention, but she either ignores it or really just didn't see it. "And who will cut my hair..." he mumbles.

Cynara moves over to Nolee. "Best use the sheet, or we'll get hair all over the barracks. And Arukath is just cute." Of course, one day Marsath will probably be noticing that she's also green, for right now, the young blue is just busy distracting his rider by nudging her at intervals with his squiggle-decorated muzzle.

Nolee watches Aiemera pass, a hint of worry creeping across her brown eyes, and she whispers, "She didn't even answer. She must be really worried about what her friends from before will think now," though it is short-lived as the laundress arrives. "Not like the rest of the stuff," she complains, eyeing a pile of dragon waste across the floor, "isn't worse than hair." Though she wriggles her knees forward to land them on the sheet. "Cynara will! We'll help each other."

Aiemera's smile is hapless, almost automatic. Arukath noses her food, eating it without direction or even challenge from her other half. "...she knows she is. I think - " Halting prematurely, Aiemera's face reddens as she lowers it once more, the mumble meant to be the end of her sentence now directed unintelligibly at the ground. Arukath's only response is a dark rumble that turns into a baby burp. Fixed to the dragons side, Aiemera casts a low-look toward the other weyrlings, though still offers nothing in turn.

G'tive looks over at Aiemera and stands. "Excuse me for a second, I'll be right back." Walking over to the new green rider, he smiles. "Want me to help fish the meat out, kind of late in the day, most of the meat is down at the bottom now, kind of gross to get to it."

Nolee rests on the floor, knees bent, and slowly sinks down onto her backside as G'tive moves toward Aiemera. Watching, but trying to pretend she isn't so Aiemera might be more comfortable, Nolee tugs her hair straight in hopes the cut, when it comes, will be more or less even. Nalaieth croons a greeting to Arukath, then flops over onto her back near Nolee, wanting pet.

Cynara hrms. "So, who's doing who first?" she inquires, glancing over at the shears. Unlike some of the weyrlings, the thought of short hair doesn't seem to bother this girl. It'll just be easier to look after.

Quite startled, Aiemera jumps as Gustive's offer is registered. With a quick, worried look at Arukath, Aiemera nearly shakes her head. "She'll snap... I think.. She... She doesn't like things done for her." Arukath liked to wear the pants, that is. In response, Arukath grumbles as she noses the meat vat all the more, nearly getting the item lodged on the end of her maw. One paw swipes at it, sending it sliding from her maw with a sickening slurping noise and a hollow thud as the empty container strikes stone. Arukath licks her maw in turn while leveling her whirling eyes upon G'tive. Rather quickly, Aiem steps in front of the brownrider, with a shaky though quelling hand placed upon the bloodied maw. "G'tive." Another pause, "First?" A look toward G'tive now as confusion colors her expression.

G'tive looks a bit confused, but not worried that the dragon would intentionally hurt him. Cansoth sits in his same spot, watching, waiting, his posture looking quite relaxed as though he might as well be at a lounge enjoying himself. "What? First?" His expression probably mirroring the one Aiemera has.

Nolee rises slowly, helping herself to the scissors left by the laundress and trying to figure out the proper way to hold them for haircutting. "I'm ready! Are you ready?" She pushes the helmet back on her head so she can better see Cynara. "Want me to cut around your helmet, or just give you a nice haircut?" Snip snip go the blades, and she's doing a pretty good job of not directly staring at Aiemera.

Cynara hrms. "With the curls, best not to use the helmet...it'll end up very uneven. Make sure nothing's below my chin...then I'll be able to tuck it all back when I'm riding." Which is the entire point...and she's spent half this time explaining that to Marsath.

"I don't... know." Aiemera states with no less amount of confusion then she started with. Arukath soon loses interest, or is simply distracted by that shiny thing over there in the corner, and with a quick launch she stalks toward it. Aiemera's hip-checked in the process, ending a foot away from G'tive before reclaiming the distance with an overly apologetic smile. "Sorry. She's.. I.. they're cutting hair, I think." Cynara and Nolee are glanced quickly at, followed with Aiemera motioning toward an empty sheet, "I... I can cut yours, while... while she's distracted."

G'tive holds his hand out to lead toward an empty area, snagging a pair of shears in the process. Settling down on the floor with his legs crossed, he cocks his head. "You seem frightened a little, maybe I'm reading things wrong. I often do," maybe his comment is overly bright, but he's never been good at being subtle. He holds the shears out, offering to let her cut first if she wants. "Or very, very worried." His face is a mix of frown and worry. "What's up?" Well, that's Gus, just cuts straight to the point.

Nolee pulls the hair forward somewhat gingerly away from Cynara's head so she doesn't jab the curly-haired girl. "All shorter than your chin?" She tugs a curl straight, snips it off, and the wisps fall to the floor, then releasing it to check its length. "Not bad. I think it'll fit inside." Soon she falls into an even rhythm of cutting, mostly avoiding Cynara's ears or neck and only marking any danger when she looks up to check on Aiemera and G'tive, and the pile of curls grows.

Hopefully that point doesn't involve flesh and blood. Aiemera follows after G'tive, though casts a look toward Arukath as she continues to paw at the shiny thing on the ground. Settling near G'tive, Aiem reaches for the shears while offering a shake of her head. "I am. Just... you know...distracted, I guess. She-" Another rumble finds Aiemera silencing as she glances at G'tive's hair. When Arukath returns her attention to the shiny object, Aiem returns hers to G'tive. "How... cutting this, how short did you want it?"

G'tive looks at Aeiemera with a scrunched up face. "Well, just an inch or two I suppose, I could easily tuck it under my helmet at this length, but I've been meaning to get a trim anyway." He tugs at his curls, lengthening one out to below his nose. "Hadn't even realized it had gotten so long." He settles himself neatly before her, tilting his head so she can get a better view. "Aeimera, I don't mean to be prying, but... you aren't *afraid* of your lifemate are you? You just seem wary, I guess."

Aiemera doesn't miss I'sai's entrance, and quickly moves to position herself so G'tive hides her from view. Behold the invisible hair cutter! Pitty Arukath is still present to ruin Aiemera's attempt at disappearing, though the dragon has since settled on all fours, head resting just inches from the shiny spot upon the floor. Tail lashing wildly behind her, it's all too likely to bump into something or someone before long. Quietly to Gus, Aiem offers, "Afraid? No, of course not... I'm... I just... distracted." Stilling into silence, she begins making tentative cuts, longer at first though steadily growing short to match Gus' requested length.

I'sai's not above a little shadows-lurking and -listening, especially on day two, the more so given the current topic; not that he skulks, just seems preoccupied, and if Aiemera saw him too - well, he doesn't have to glance that way more than a moment. Or two.

G'tive has his head pointed down, watching little locks of white hair fall to the ground, he doesn't notice I'sai prowling about. "Distracted, you seem more than that. Are you afraid she'll hurt someone?"

Nolee mostly tries to keep her head still, but the constant movement results in an uneven line across the back of her neck. Words of thanks are exchanged between haircutter and cuttee, then Nolee's batting hair tufts back toward Nalaieth: all the better to listen in. And her sideways-leaning posture could be another clue. Keeping close and putting the tools back on the tray left by Jillah's requested laundress makes for a good excuse, and scissors are waved cheerfully toward the Weyrlingmaster.

"No.. no. She's... you know, she didn' on the sands. She's just... I need to make sure she's taken care of." Aiemera continues cutting, purposefully avoiding all forms of eye contact. "It's ok. What... what about yours?" A moment passes as she tries to fetch the name, though ends up slanting a strand of hair longer then the rest. With a soft frorwn, Aiem backtracks to correct her mistake, "It's ok. Honest." Trying to convince him of such, Aiem offers a shallow smile.

I'sai's, "Evening," is quiet, congenial; he pauses to ask, "Anyone need another towel? Funny how hair likes to -cling- to everything."

Nolee picks her usually tactful moment to join the conversation between G'tive and Aiemera, "You do seem sad. Is her voice mean in your head? Since she's little now, maybe you can teach her to be nice." While meant to be encouraging, she perhaps less than succeeds, rising slowly. "A towel would be very helpful. I was clean, before haircutting. Really." Dirty kneeds have little to show for it, however.

G'tive frowns while picking up a bit of hair and twirling it between is fingers. "Yeh, taken care of..." He decides to let the subject drop for now, casting an eye to his dragon who is lazily watching the goings on. "Boundless amounts of energy it seems, and constant questions, he's also a clutz. But apparently most of the clutch is too." He starts to laugh and then chokes on it with I'sai's 'evening', jerking his head unexpectantly to look his way. "Sir, I didn't see you..."

Aiemera looks quickly toward Nolee, before shaking her head in continuation of her excuse. G'tive's sudden jerk gains Aiemera flinching away so as not to inadvertantly poke his eye out, and patiently she settles her hands in her lap. "She's.. no, she's fine. Really." Looking toward I'sai next, Aiem offers a small smile and a soft dip of her chin. "Sir."

"They'll grow into their paws," I'sai says amiably, as he moves to both get a towel and bring it back, ragged but clean as it is. "I'm half-surprised you trust each other with sharp pointy objects. Faranth knows I was twitching elbows every time Taralyth moved a wing, at their age. Guess it helps to be this time of night, have them sleepy. Everything smooth?"

Nolee picks up belatedly on the cue from G'tive, adding a slow, "S'r!" with the strange inflection she commonly uses for the name/titular. She leaves off pestering Aiemera further to withdraw the helmet and run the towel over her damp hair, scattering the fresh-cut blonde pieces to the floor. "Jillah told us to cut our hair. She set a big head with hair on fire, too. It was cool."

G'tive casts another glance towards Cansoth who has moved over to his couch. "I tried wearing him out earlier, might've made him a little more sleepy but just about winded me to death." Once again he nearly chokes on a laugh. "And smelly."

Aiemera absently nods to I'sai, "I'm being careful, sir. I.. wouldn't want to do that to Gus." Arukath rumbles slightly, having now lost her interest in the shiny thing upon the floor. Unfurling her wings, Arukath stands, drawing Aiemera's attention almost instantly. A silent exchange passes between them both that has her giving an apologetic, "I think it's time... you know, for bed. I.. she's tired." Which prompts Aiem to her feet, the shears handed off to G'tive with a promise to finish the 'cut in the morning.

"I won't ask who you -would- want to do that to," I'sai says mock-darkly. "As for smelliness, there's that too - sweep up before you get to sleep, G'tive, don't forget."

Speaking of smelly, Nalaieth takes the time that Nolee's drying her hair to add to the muck on the floor, which makes the girl groan. She spares an appreciative though wary glance for the attention-demanding green, then unhappily goes after the cleaning supplies. "Night, Aiemera. Ugh. They need hands, so they can clean up their own muck." Slowly, Nolee does some of the first actual work since her arrival at the weyr, though Nalaieth's curious sniffings at least bring a partial smile.

G'tive sighs and looks around him at the barracks. Luckily most of the hair had been contained on the sheets the laundress gave them to sit on, only a few stray locks seem to have escaped, mostly due to dragonet curiosity. "Night Aiem," is said as he begins sweeping and folding the blankets so that the hair collects in the middle of each. "Well, at least when they're older they use the necessary *between*. You don't need hands for that."

I'sai lifts a sandy brow - and then just says, as he leans against the wall and watches, "There's that." A slight pause, interspersed by the faint snick-snick of his shears, "-They- don't even have to wipe."

Nolee pushes the sweeper across the floor first, though she lacks any skill with it and bits escape unnoticed. "That can't come soon enough. As she gets bigger, she'll only make more." The Weyrlingmaster's given a nose wrinkle of an expression: "They don't? That's icky. They should." Having mostly gathered Nalaieth's pile, she offers the sweeper to G'tive. "You want a turn?" is hopeful.

"Maybe you'll teach her to," I'sai says offhandedly, pushing away. "And you missed some bits - " he points them out with a toe, the first few at least - "But I'll give you lot a few more days before you have to get each one. Evening," and with that he heads back to more formal work.

(Nolee and G'tive clean up, then head off to tend their sleepy bonds).