(no subject)
It is a spring afternoon, 12:27 of day 21, month 3, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Lakeshore, Fort Weyr
The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.
Obvious exits:
Herb Garden Water Bowl
Just after noon for most of Fort is early morning for Chielyth - at least, if the little green's sleepy droop and yawns are any indication. Kai's just sending her trudging into the lake, one wing trailing; he's tossing his boots and socks up the beach and rolling up his pants, while a brush and bucket wait nearby. It's a lovely, if cool spring day, and a good handful of dragons are scattered along the lake's edge to swim and splash and bathe, with about half of the expected riders in attendance. It's not quite nice enough to linger on a walk either, but here and there Fortians eager to escape the caverns can be found.
And then there's At're and Khazioth. The two are already in the water, hypothetically working on bathing Khaz. In reality, it's an all-out splash war, the young dragon and the young man darting back and forth. At're is, for once, laughing hysterically -- an unusual sound coming from the typically friendly-but-proper weyrling. Khazioth pauses only long enough to dart a basso, << Afternoon, Chielyth! >> to the green, before getting back to skimming one wing low over the water, trying to get At're before the young man darts back out of range.
Khazioth
Thick, oily black smoke has left its residue upon the burnished bronze hide that stretches taut over this young dragon's egg-starved bones. The sharply angled wedge of his head is splashed with a mask of twilight crimson, slick and dark across the curve of his muzzle with spattered droplets arching over the harsh lines of his eyeridges, an eerie luminescence lending an intensity of focus to his faceted gaze. Sliding down the long line of his throat, pooling around the base of each neckridge, liquid crimson highlights smear across his deep chest before trickling down his forelegs to coat obsidian talons. Strong across his back and shoulders, the metallic glint of his hide is all but lost beneath the green-tinged stain of swamp mud that clings to his underbelly and spreads across his haunches. The length of his tail is dulled, lightly flecked with the rusty shade of drying blood until the spaded tip, where the edges are limned with a brassy sheen reminiscent of a sharpened spearhead. Set into the solid musculature of his shoulders, his wings are broad and touched with the ruddy hue of reflected firelight. The tracery of ichor-filled veins within his 'sails create an illusion of tarnished patterning, like a shield's embossed crest.
At 0 turns, 2 months, 7 days old, Khazioth is 10 feet, 11 inches long with a wingspan of 19 feet, 1 inch, standing 7 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.
Chielyth pauses to unlid one eye and watch the pair, sleepiness evaporating under increasing interest. Farther up the beach Kai straightens to look; after a few seconds he snorts and calls, "Yeah, g'wan," with a wave of one arm. Thus released, the green flips that sagging wing smartly to her back and prances toward the young pair, stopping a length or so away and ducking her head to the smaller dragon's level. << Hi Khazioth! Can I come play? >>
Oooh, distraction. At're uses the bronze's temporary focus on Chielyth to slip back towards shore, a smile still playing about his lips. Even when he sees B'kaiv, the expression doesn't diminish. (Oh the wonders.) Khazioth turns his head to look over at At're, then swings about to skim a light splash towards the green's lowered head. << Of course, >> he replies, the muggy swamp of his mindscape even more humid than normal. << If you can catch me! >> Flee! goes Khazioth at that point, bounding through the water like an overexcited dog, away from the green, down the shore away from where the human counterparts are.
Tall, and lean with it, Atreyan stands all of six foot two. His build is a tad too muscular to be called lithe, though his broad shoulders are lined with swimmer's muscle instead of a bodybuilder's bulk. Sculpted features are distinct: high forehead, narrow cheekbones sloping down into a pointed chin. Dark eyebrows overhang slightly deeper-set eyes of slate grey, balanced well over a long, straight nose and even lips, just this side of full. His hair is short, and medium-brown, straight and tending to spike rather than curl.
His clothes are as premium as they get, considering the cut and style that Atreyan sports. Low-slung brown pants are made of finely combed, light linen, matched up with a white, button-up shirt that must have a touch of sisal, given the slight gleam of the fabric. Boots of darker brown are scuffed with wear, to match the simple brown belt which holds his pants to a decent height.
Atreyan appears to be in his early twenties.
Chielyth splashes some water after At're and his retreat, her eyes first-lidding again under the vicious onslaught of Khazioth's acid rain. << I'll get you! >> she promises cheerfully, though she has to wait for the squashy rider to get out of the way first before galumphing after the bronze. Kai sports an equally rare and unguarded half-smile as he watches the pair, absently pushing his pants legs down again. It's a brief, "Hey," he sends to At're before indicating his bronze. "Getting real big, ain't he."
<< We'll see about /that/, >> Khazioth states, cutting a turn too close and going ass over tiddlywinks in the relatively shallow water. Whups. There's a brief assessment, then a, << 'm all right! >> and a continuation of fleeing from Chielyth as if his life depends on it. "Goo--" whatever At're was going to say under his breath is cut off, in exchange for offering B'kaiv a rueful smile. "Yeah, he is. It's already a pain in the ass to oil him. Can't imagine what it's going to be like when he's fully grown," commented relatively mildly.
The green plunges past him - all part of the plan! - before swinging wide and into deeper water. << OK! >> she agrees for his declaration of health and charges after him again, wings wide for maximum splashtitude. << I'm going to bite your tail! >> "Ain't gonna have t' oil him every day, for one," her rider comments back, equally mildly, apparently willing to keep this tentative truce. "It's 'cause he's growing so sharding fast. Me, I only give her a full oil after a bath, an' do touchups where she's itchy between."
Tail in question lashes to and fro as an overexcited puppy, Khazioth bounding to a stop with a wssssshk! of his wings on water, managing to splash a totally nonexistent target before getting half-drowned in Chielyth's wave. At're glances out into the water, then back to B'kaiv with an evident sense of relief to his grey eyes. "I've heard that before," he comments, "But it's hard to believe-- he's wanting to be oiled twice a day, right now," commented in that same somewhat-companionable tone. Truce it is. "It will even out, I suppose, given how little of him there is now, and how much of him there'll be-- later." Vague gesture to indicate that later.
Chielyth's wide-open maw might be terrifying to wherries, but she only waves it in the general direction of Khazioth's rump without really biting. << Got you! >> And then it's her turn to bound away, lashing her tail tauntingly behind, and keeping one eye on the bronze to make sure he's going to get her, oh no. Kai crosses to fetch his socks but doesn't slip them back on yet, remaining barefooted despite the stone's chill. "Yeah. Well, shells, look at him. Half her size, an' he's only a couple months old. She weren't that big until she had half a turn." With a vague wave at the pair. "You want help oiling, though, an' if he don't mind..."
Chomp chomp chomp. The sound of Khazioth's teeth crashing shut a few times gives At're pause, and another, sharper look to his lifemate-- Khazioth half-stumbles in his pursuit of Chielyth, but stops the actual airbiting. << Gotcha! >> as his nose bumps against her lashing tail. He moves a wide semi-circle to turn around back the way he came-- it's getting pretty deep out here for him, anyhow. "Yeah, it's-- he's growing like a--" No doubt At're was fixing to say 'runner', but instead, he finishes the sentence ruefully: "...dragon, I suppose." His grey eyes shift to B'kaiv's, eyebrows lifting in surprise at that last part. "Thank you," he states, "I make take you up on that." Probably not. But hey. It's a gesture of goodwill-- or at least, that's how Trey's gonna look at it.
The green bleats at being so easily caught, but she's got a surprise of her own for Khazioth - what is deep water for him is not for her, and she rears up and spins to come down with a splash before aiming to cut him off from even deeper water yet with a cheerful, << Nuh-unh! >> B'kaiv snorts amiably - dragon, right - and watches the two splashing for a few seconds before focusing on At're again. "She'll tire him out if you want. I dunno as he's th' sort t' know when it's too much, but she don't never do nothing by halves. An' yeah, I don't mind. Got plenty of practice with it, don't I."
AAAAAH. Khazioth, in lieu of alternatives, comes to a screeching stop. There's a silent admiration of her tactics, as he takes a moment to take a few hard breaths, then he's off, again, his boundings stretched long and low, with surprising speed given the terrain. "I wouldn't mind him tired out," At're states, an assessing eye on his lifemate. "And that will tire him out pretty damned quick," thoughtful. There's a shake of his head. "She's certainly something," about Chielyth, presumably; "He doesn't play like that, even with Liath." Eyes crinkle about the edges in silent laughter, taking in the scene once more.
Deep breaths and Chielyth offers to touch muzzles, her eyes whirling excitement and glee. << This is fun! >> What else is fun is prancing in place while Khazioth gets more distance, waiting, waiting, waitingPOW! to charge after, feet slapping down to create the biggest splash rather than seeking speed. "Yeah, th' lake's one of her favorite places. Other'n just flying. G'dri were saying th' other day it's good she's got so many friends. Otherwise I dunno as there'd be enough t' keep up with her." Here's a tentative smile for the compliment, and a chance to study At're sidelong, rather than watch their dragons. "Liath's... Vanissa's, ain't she? She all kinds a' rowdy too?"
Bump goes Khazioth's nose to Chielyth's- it's a masculine gesture, like a soldier bumping fists with another. But he's far and off, trying to gain maximum speed. Uh-oh. He can hear her coming. He cranes a look over one shoulder, misses a beat on his bounding, half-trips, recovers (nobody saw that), and spins around in the course of a couple sideways jumps. There, he flattens his front quarters, chest underneath the water, tail flagging high above, waiting for Chielyth to come closer. "Yeah, I can see that. So much energy-- so exhuberant," At're comments about the green. "I imagine if it were just you and her, you'd be damned tuckered after a candlemark or two. But hell, at least she doesn't talk your head off about tactics and impact trajectories and mission vectors," Or something like that, says the rolling blah-blah-blah motion of one hand. "Or, at least, I presume she doesn't." A snicker, then, and a nod. "Yeah, Nissa's. Not rowdy, but playful like that, in her own fashion."
Masculine on Khazioth's part, maybe. From Chielyth there's another girly bleat. A few other dragons have paused in their bathing to watch the pair, and a couple of blues have started their own game of splash-tag, but they don't come close to the sheer enthusiasm of the green and bronze. When he stops Chielyth scrabbles to a watery stop just a few feet away and sends a SWOOSH of water at him with her (bigger) wings. << Now you're wet! >> because he wasn't before. "She keeps me running, yeah," Kai admits, head cocking for Khazioth's chosen topic. "He's always going on at you about lessons? Huh. Nah, she talks a lot, but it's about everything. Flying, mostly. An' if she ain't talking t' me, she's talking t' Khameth, or Mecaith, or Corvinth, or," he pauses for another snort. "You get th' idea. Any of her friends."
Khaz rears up on his haunches as she approaches, all the better to get hit in the face with her wave-- but when his forepaws and chest come down into the water, it issues forth a respectable-sized wave, if not nearly the size of Chielyth's. That done, Khaz just stands there, blowing hard. << Okay, >> defeat is a white flag flying over the swamp of the bronze's mind. << You win. >> At're's lips twitch, as if he's fighting hard to keep from laughing, and he turns to focus more on B'kaiv. "No, not lessons. His own discussions about the best way to kill a wherry, or herdbeast, or trundlebug, or whatever's next on the menu," stated with no little exasperation. "I hope he'll shut up after he finally does get his first kill." Trundlebugs are hard to catch. "Right," back on the topic of Chielyth; "I do. Get the idea, that is."
Chielyth deliberately drops her head to get a facewash from Khazioth's splash, prances a bit more before coming in to offer nose-touches again. << You'll get me next time, >> she promises cheerfully before flopping onto one hip, sides heaving though nowhere near exhausted. << Do you want to swim now? >> "Yeah, maybe. That oughta be soon, yeah? They didn't let her try until she were - shells, 'bout a month older'n he is now, 'cause she were so little. But he's good-sized, so I don't see as why they'd make him wait. Probably he's gonna do that for everything, you think? Like a... a idosync...rasy thing?" Whereupon Kai promptly finds something on the other side of the lake that desperately needs to be stared at. A lot.
Khazioth brightens. << A swim, >> he pronounces, his deep voice a happy rumble backed by a sweet harmony of cicada-song. << Sure. >> He moves off towards deep water, then, eventually doggy-paddling with his head craned way above water. Then-- dive! Shwoom! "Yeah, I think I overheard them say they were going to take the bigger ones-- Khaz and the browns, maybe?-- the start of next seven," Trey replies. "I'm not sure. I mean, I think miss Jantha would let me let him try, if I asked her. But I suppose we'll wait," Trey comments mildly. As far as ido-syn-cra-whatsits go, At're seems to not have noticed B'kaiv's word-stumble-- he's too busy groaning. "Faranth, I hope not. He'll be driving me insane, otherwise." His shoulders slump down a tich, though, a silent indication that he thinks the greenrider's likely correct.
<< I like swimming! >> But if Khazioth's been paying attention, he might have already deduced that Chielyth likes pretty much everything, across the board. She takes off after him, companionable now and not competitive, keeping close through dive and paddle and swim. "/Miss/ Jantha?" Kai leaps on the title in tones of disbelief and warning. "Her title's Weyrlingmaster. Ain't they got you learning all th' rank things yet? Shells, you better watch it - she catches you giving her lip like that, laps is probably th' best you can look for."
<< I do too, >> Khazioth states, his swim as close to a meandering-type wander as it ever is-- completely unlike his typical focused momentum. "Ah," and here Trey does have the manners to look abashed, "Sorry. Holder. Ranks default to pleasantries-- hard to get used to it." He retries that. "/Weyrlingmaster/ Jantha." Ahem. "Though I wouldn't mind laps," commented absentmindedly. "Ah. Oh-- thank you, sir," At're comments to B'kaiv, with a sharp salute, "For speaking with me. But-- I think-" He gestures towards a fellow greenriding weyrling who's looking quite helplessly in knots, where she's precariously balanced to attempt to get /just that right spot/ on her green. "I think I better go rescue her," commented with a quick grin, as he makes towards the girl.
B'kaiv bobs an approving nod for /Weyrlingmaster/ Jantha, promptly quirks a wry not-smile for the introduction of sirs, and returns the salute tiredly. "There's some as is worse for standing on rank - usually them as has it. He can stay with her a bit - I was gonna wash her, but she's happy now, so go help... Halaina, ain't it?" Left to his own devices, Kai settles onto the rocky beach, watching At're's retreat until he's safely assisting with oil, and then turning a thoughtful gaze on Chielyth and her new bestest friend.
He ain't so bad, maybe. Hard to believe that bronze is so young, looking at him. Shells, he's big. Wonder if he's gonna wanna play with her in a few months? --Shells, Kai, ain't like it matters. Just... think about something else.
Lakeshore, Fort Weyr
The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.
Obvious exits:
Herb Garden Water Bowl
Just after noon for most of Fort is early morning for Chielyth - at least, if the little green's sleepy droop and yawns are any indication. Kai's just sending her trudging into the lake, one wing trailing; he's tossing his boots and socks up the beach and rolling up his pants, while a brush and bucket wait nearby. It's a lovely, if cool spring day, and a good handful of dragons are scattered along the lake's edge to swim and splash and bathe, with about half of the expected riders in attendance. It's not quite nice enough to linger on a walk either, but here and there Fortians eager to escape the caverns can be found.
And then there's At're and Khazioth. The two are already in the water, hypothetically working on bathing Khaz. In reality, it's an all-out splash war, the young dragon and the young man darting back and forth. At're is, for once, laughing hysterically -- an unusual sound coming from the typically friendly-but-proper weyrling. Khazioth pauses only long enough to dart a basso, << Afternoon, Chielyth! >> to the green, before getting back to skimming one wing low over the water, trying to get At're before the young man darts back out of range.
Khazioth
Thick, oily black smoke has left its residue upon the burnished bronze hide that stretches taut over this young dragon's egg-starved bones. The sharply angled wedge of his head is splashed with a mask of twilight crimson, slick and dark across the curve of his muzzle with spattered droplets arching over the harsh lines of his eyeridges, an eerie luminescence lending an intensity of focus to his faceted gaze. Sliding down the long line of his throat, pooling around the base of each neckridge, liquid crimson highlights smear across his deep chest before trickling down his forelegs to coat obsidian talons. Strong across his back and shoulders, the metallic glint of his hide is all but lost beneath the green-tinged stain of swamp mud that clings to his underbelly and spreads across his haunches. The length of his tail is dulled, lightly flecked with the rusty shade of drying blood until the spaded tip, where the edges are limned with a brassy sheen reminiscent of a sharpened spearhead. Set into the solid musculature of his shoulders, his wings are broad and touched with the ruddy hue of reflected firelight. The tracery of ichor-filled veins within his 'sails create an illusion of tarnished patterning, like a shield's embossed crest.
At 0 turns, 2 months, 7 days old, Khazioth is 10 feet, 11 inches long with a wingspan of 19 feet, 1 inch, standing 7 feet, 4 inches tall at the shoulder.
Chielyth pauses to unlid one eye and watch the pair, sleepiness evaporating under increasing interest. Farther up the beach Kai straightens to look; after a few seconds he snorts and calls, "Yeah, g'wan," with a wave of one arm. Thus released, the green flips that sagging wing smartly to her back and prances toward the young pair, stopping a length or so away and ducking her head to the smaller dragon's level. << Hi Khazioth! Can I come play? >>
Oooh, distraction. At're uses the bronze's temporary focus on Chielyth to slip back towards shore, a smile still playing about his lips. Even when he sees B'kaiv, the expression doesn't diminish. (Oh the wonders.) Khazioth turns his head to look over at At're, then swings about to skim a light splash towards the green's lowered head. << Of course, >> he replies, the muggy swamp of his mindscape even more humid than normal. << If you can catch me! >> Flee! goes Khazioth at that point, bounding through the water like an overexcited dog, away from the green, down the shore away from where the human counterparts are.
Tall, and lean with it, Atreyan stands all of six foot two. His build is a tad too muscular to be called lithe, though his broad shoulders are lined with swimmer's muscle instead of a bodybuilder's bulk. Sculpted features are distinct: high forehead, narrow cheekbones sloping down into a pointed chin. Dark eyebrows overhang slightly deeper-set eyes of slate grey, balanced well over a long, straight nose and even lips, just this side of full. His hair is short, and medium-brown, straight and tending to spike rather than curl.
His clothes are as premium as they get, considering the cut and style that Atreyan sports. Low-slung brown pants are made of finely combed, light linen, matched up with a white, button-up shirt that must have a touch of sisal, given the slight gleam of the fabric. Boots of darker brown are scuffed with wear, to match the simple brown belt which holds his pants to a decent height.
Atreyan appears to be in his early twenties.
Chielyth splashes some water after At're and his retreat, her eyes first-lidding again under the vicious onslaught of Khazioth's acid rain. << I'll get you! >> she promises cheerfully, though she has to wait for the squashy rider to get out of the way first before galumphing after the bronze. Kai sports an equally rare and unguarded half-smile as he watches the pair, absently pushing his pants legs down again. It's a brief, "Hey," he sends to At're before indicating his bronze. "Getting real big, ain't he."
<< We'll see about /that/, >> Khazioth states, cutting a turn too close and going ass over tiddlywinks in the relatively shallow water. Whups. There's a brief assessment, then a, << 'm all right! >> and a continuation of fleeing from Chielyth as if his life depends on it. "Goo--" whatever At're was going to say under his breath is cut off, in exchange for offering B'kaiv a rueful smile. "Yeah, he is. It's already a pain in the ass to oil him. Can't imagine what it's going to be like when he's fully grown," commented relatively mildly.
The green plunges past him - all part of the plan! - before swinging wide and into deeper water. << OK! >> she agrees for his declaration of health and charges after him again, wings wide for maximum splashtitude. << I'm going to bite your tail! >> "Ain't gonna have t' oil him every day, for one," her rider comments back, equally mildly, apparently willing to keep this tentative truce. "It's 'cause he's growing so sharding fast. Me, I only give her a full oil after a bath, an' do touchups where she's itchy between."
Tail in question lashes to and fro as an overexcited puppy, Khazioth bounding to a stop with a wssssshk! of his wings on water, managing to splash a totally nonexistent target before getting half-drowned in Chielyth's wave. At're glances out into the water, then back to B'kaiv with an evident sense of relief to his grey eyes. "I've heard that before," he comments, "But it's hard to believe-- he's wanting to be oiled twice a day, right now," commented in that same somewhat-companionable tone. Truce it is. "It will even out, I suppose, given how little of him there is now, and how much of him there'll be-- later." Vague gesture to indicate that later.
Chielyth's wide-open maw might be terrifying to wherries, but she only waves it in the general direction of Khazioth's rump without really biting. << Got you! >> And then it's her turn to bound away, lashing her tail tauntingly behind, and keeping one eye on the bronze to make sure he's going to get her, oh no. Kai crosses to fetch his socks but doesn't slip them back on yet, remaining barefooted despite the stone's chill. "Yeah. Well, shells, look at him. Half her size, an' he's only a couple months old. She weren't that big until she had half a turn." With a vague wave at the pair. "You want help oiling, though, an' if he don't mind..."
Chomp chomp chomp. The sound of Khazioth's teeth crashing shut a few times gives At're pause, and another, sharper look to his lifemate-- Khazioth half-stumbles in his pursuit of Chielyth, but stops the actual airbiting. << Gotcha! >> as his nose bumps against her lashing tail. He moves a wide semi-circle to turn around back the way he came-- it's getting pretty deep out here for him, anyhow. "Yeah, it's-- he's growing like a--" No doubt At're was fixing to say 'runner', but instead, he finishes the sentence ruefully: "...dragon, I suppose." His grey eyes shift to B'kaiv's, eyebrows lifting in surprise at that last part. "Thank you," he states, "I make take you up on that." Probably not. But hey. It's a gesture of goodwill-- or at least, that's how Trey's gonna look at it.
The green bleats at being so easily caught, but she's got a surprise of her own for Khazioth - what is deep water for him is not for her, and she rears up and spins to come down with a splash before aiming to cut him off from even deeper water yet with a cheerful, << Nuh-unh! >> B'kaiv snorts amiably - dragon, right - and watches the two splashing for a few seconds before focusing on At're again. "She'll tire him out if you want. I dunno as he's th' sort t' know when it's too much, but she don't never do nothing by halves. An' yeah, I don't mind. Got plenty of practice with it, don't I."
AAAAAH. Khazioth, in lieu of alternatives, comes to a screeching stop. There's a silent admiration of her tactics, as he takes a moment to take a few hard breaths, then he's off, again, his boundings stretched long and low, with surprising speed given the terrain. "I wouldn't mind him tired out," At're states, an assessing eye on his lifemate. "And that will tire him out pretty damned quick," thoughtful. There's a shake of his head. "She's certainly something," about Chielyth, presumably; "He doesn't play like that, even with Liath." Eyes crinkle about the edges in silent laughter, taking in the scene once more.
Deep breaths and Chielyth offers to touch muzzles, her eyes whirling excitement and glee. << This is fun! >> What else is fun is prancing in place while Khazioth gets more distance, waiting, waiting, waitingPOW! to charge after, feet slapping down to create the biggest splash rather than seeking speed. "Yeah, th' lake's one of her favorite places. Other'n just flying. G'dri were saying th' other day it's good she's got so many friends. Otherwise I dunno as there'd be enough t' keep up with her." Here's a tentative smile for the compliment, and a chance to study At're sidelong, rather than watch their dragons. "Liath's... Vanissa's, ain't she? She all kinds a' rowdy too?"
Bump goes Khazioth's nose to Chielyth's- it's a masculine gesture, like a soldier bumping fists with another. But he's far and off, trying to gain maximum speed. Uh-oh. He can hear her coming. He cranes a look over one shoulder, misses a beat on his bounding, half-trips, recovers (nobody saw that), and spins around in the course of a couple sideways jumps. There, he flattens his front quarters, chest underneath the water, tail flagging high above, waiting for Chielyth to come closer. "Yeah, I can see that. So much energy-- so exhuberant," At're comments about the green. "I imagine if it were just you and her, you'd be damned tuckered after a candlemark or two. But hell, at least she doesn't talk your head off about tactics and impact trajectories and mission vectors," Or something like that, says the rolling blah-blah-blah motion of one hand. "Or, at least, I presume she doesn't." A snicker, then, and a nod. "Yeah, Nissa's. Not rowdy, but playful like that, in her own fashion."
Masculine on Khazioth's part, maybe. From Chielyth there's another girly bleat. A few other dragons have paused in their bathing to watch the pair, and a couple of blues have started their own game of splash-tag, but they don't come close to the sheer enthusiasm of the green and bronze. When he stops Chielyth scrabbles to a watery stop just a few feet away and sends a SWOOSH of water at him with her (bigger) wings. << Now you're wet! >> because he wasn't before. "She keeps me running, yeah," Kai admits, head cocking for Khazioth's chosen topic. "He's always going on at you about lessons? Huh. Nah, she talks a lot, but it's about everything. Flying, mostly. An' if she ain't talking t' me, she's talking t' Khameth, or Mecaith, or Corvinth, or," he pauses for another snort. "You get th' idea. Any of her friends."
Khaz rears up on his haunches as she approaches, all the better to get hit in the face with her wave-- but when his forepaws and chest come down into the water, it issues forth a respectable-sized wave, if not nearly the size of Chielyth's. That done, Khaz just stands there, blowing hard. << Okay, >> defeat is a white flag flying over the swamp of the bronze's mind. << You win. >> At're's lips twitch, as if he's fighting hard to keep from laughing, and he turns to focus more on B'kaiv. "No, not lessons. His own discussions about the best way to kill a wherry, or herdbeast, or trundlebug, or whatever's next on the menu," stated with no little exasperation. "I hope he'll shut up after he finally does get his first kill." Trundlebugs are hard to catch. "Right," back on the topic of Chielyth; "I do. Get the idea, that is."
Chielyth deliberately drops her head to get a facewash from Khazioth's splash, prances a bit more before coming in to offer nose-touches again. << You'll get me next time, >> she promises cheerfully before flopping onto one hip, sides heaving though nowhere near exhausted. << Do you want to swim now? >> "Yeah, maybe. That oughta be soon, yeah? They didn't let her try until she were - shells, 'bout a month older'n he is now, 'cause she were so little. But he's good-sized, so I don't see as why they'd make him wait. Probably he's gonna do that for everything, you think? Like a... a idosync...rasy thing?" Whereupon Kai promptly finds something on the other side of the lake that desperately needs to be stared at. A lot.
Khazioth brightens. << A swim, >> he pronounces, his deep voice a happy rumble backed by a sweet harmony of cicada-song. << Sure. >> He moves off towards deep water, then, eventually doggy-paddling with his head craned way above water. Then-- dive! Shwoom! "Yeah, I think I overheard them say they were going to take the bigger ones-- Khaz and the browns, maybe?-- the start of next seven," Trey replies. "I'm not sure. I mean, I think miss Jantha would let me let him try, if I asked her. But I suppose we'll wait," Trey comments mildly. As far as ido-syn-cra-whatsits go, At're seems to not have noticed B'kaiv's word-stumble-- he's too busy groaning. "Faranth, I hope not. He'll be driving me insane, otherwise." His shoulders slump down a tich, though, a silent indication that he thinks the greenrider's likely correct.
<< I like swimming! >> But if Khazioth's been paying attention, he might have already deduced that Chielyth likes pretty much everything, across the board. She takes off after him, companionable now and not competitive, keeping close through dive and paddle and swim. "/Miss/ Jantha?" Kai leaps on the title in tones of disbelief and warning. "Her title's Weyrlingmaster. Ain't they got you learning all th' rank things yet? Shells, you better watch it - she catches you giving her lip like that, laps is probably th' best you can look for."
<< I do too, >> Khazioth states, his swim as close to a meandering-type wander as it ever is-- completely unlike his typical focused momentum. "Ah," and here Trey does have the manners to look abashed, "Sorry. Holder. Ranks default to pleasantries-- hard to get used to it." He retries that. "/Weyrlingmaster/ Jantha." Ahem. "Though I wouldn't mind laps," commented absentmindedly. "Ah. Oh-- thank you, sir," At're comments to B'kaiv, with a sharp salute, "For speaking with me. But-- I think-" He gestures towards a fellow greenriding weyrling who's looking quite helplessly in knots, where she's precariously balanced to attempt to get /just that right spot/ on her green. "I think I better go rescue her," commented with a quick grin, as he makes towards the girl.
B'kaiv bobs an approving nod for /Weyrlingmaster/ Jantha, promptly quirks a wry not-smile for the introduction of sirs, and returns the salute tiredly. "There's some as is worse for standing on rank - usually them as has it. He can stay with her a bit - I was gonna wash her, but she's happy now, so go help... Halaina, ain't it?" Left to his own devices, Kai settles onto the rocky beach, watching At're's retreat until he's safely assisting with oil, and then turning a thoughtful gaze on Chielyth and her new bestest friend.
He ain't so bad, maybe. Hard to believe that bronze is so young, looking at him. Shells, he's big. Wonder if he's gonna wanna play with her in a few months? --Shells, Kai, ain't like it matters. Just... think about something else.