A Quiet Moment

Winter - Month 3 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Weyrling Training Field
Near the tall black eastern wall of the crater is a cleared field. The earth there has been churned many times over by the landings and take offs of young dragons and only a few patches of grass cling to life in this active area. Wooden props and markers used to assist the weyrlings as they learn the precise maneuvers required for the rescue and protection work that the weyr is famous for, litter the training field. Close to the rimwall, in the east where the sun is usually shaded is a large wooden slat barracks for the weyrlings to live in. Tropical trees and shrubs have been allowed to grow here, perfuming the air with a floral scent.


Nassir is whistling as he strolls out to the training field, a basket of sandwiches and asundry other goodies slipped over one arm. Spotting Toith, the Tailor veers her way, one hand raising in an easy wave. "Oi, Toith!"

Lounging at the side of the training field, Toith's head swings toward the arriving tailor. Attention turned away from the pair of weyrling dragons going through the various exercises necessary to strengthen wings and muscles, and pointedly focusing on Nassir instead. A chuff of greeting, though she does not bother to haul herself to her feet to investigate. She's got a job to do, after all. Even if brown Vhaosath and green Luyillath are doing just fine without her input.

"I brought food," Nassir calls back to the green as he sets the basket down on the edge of the field. Rather then approach, his gaze sweeps toward the weyrling dragons, his fingers waggling in a wave directed there way. Nudging the basket a bit more to the side, he draws his familiar cloak around his shoulders, tugging the hood a bit higher on his head as he sweeps the field with his gaze. With no sign of R'sner, the tailor drops into an easy crouch to watch, his arms drapping over the tops of his thighs.

It may not be terribly interesting, all of that useless wing-flapping that the pair of weyrling-dragons are doing. Wings up. Wings down. Slow and controlled. Going through the motions ad nauseam while Toith looks on. But it is apparently something they can do without her constant commentary, as the green's muzzle is still pointed toward Nassir and his basket. Even if she knows good and well there is nothing in there for her to eat. But she's curious (nosy) nonetheless. And R'sner? Not far. And soon visible enough as he leaves the confines of the office, drops from the patio to the dirt of the field. He heads with purposeful strides towards the Igen tailor having been, no doubt, alerted to his arrival by the green who turns to huff in his direction as he passes her.

Nassir doesn't mind watching the young dragons doing their exercises, at all. He is, however, aware of Toith's curiousity and tilts the basket so she can see the neatly wrapped sandwiches, hunk of cheese and grapes he's squirreled away. It is the sight of R'sner approaching, however, that brings a broader smile to his lips, the hood spilling off his hair as he pushes to his feet. "Hungry?" The question is uttered as he moves to meet the advance, one arm reaching out with the intention of winding firmly around the Weyrlingmaster's waist. "Looks like you all have been busy today."

"We have," agrees R'sner, sparing a glance for the pair of dragons that have briefly stuttered and stopped in their exercises. A chuff from Toith has them going again, her interest in the basket waning in the wake of the reveal of cheese and sandwiches and grapes (things she does not care to eat). But Res is interested enough, gaze drifting briefly to the basket as he accepts the winding of Nassir's arm around him. The greeting is returned quick enough, hooking his arm around the tailor to pull him in for a brief hug. "And you?" asked as he favors Nassir with a ghost of a smile. "How are you?"

Nassir grins, his weight shifting to nudge R'sner's steps toward the basket. "Determined to see you eat," he adds with a teasing wink. Smoothing his palm over the greenrider's hip, he tilts his chin up, rising up momentarily on his toes to brush a kiss over the corner of his mouth. "I'm good. Better to finally get down here and see you. I'm surprised Ashwi isn't out here?" She is usually diligently at work with Jovi. "Everything alright on that front?"

"I ate," about fourteen hours ago. But really, the argument is moot. Res is easily guided toward the basket and its promise of food, though his gaze darts between Nassir, the weyrlings, and Toith in turn. "Oh yes. They are fine," for Ashwi and her brown. "Working on straps, or feeding Jovianth, most likely." He is not worried; which must mean they're fine. "It's Zychaelth that must be watched for," and there's a quick squint around the field as though to ascertain where the little blue might be hiding.

Nassir exhales a chuckle at the mention of the blue dragon, his head giving a wry shake. "Valeska was certain he was going to give you a hard time at the hatching." Nearing the basket, he steps away, his palm smoothing over the small of R'sner's back as he drops back into a crouch. "Eat something more," he decides as he pulls out a sandwich and straightens. "There are sweetrolls, but those can wait until you've got something healthy in your stomach." Apparently, he's on to R'sner's claims of having eaten.

"And he is," huffs R'sner, giving up the search Suyi's little dragon. "He's a headache." But he's an adorable headache? Whatever Toith has to add, it has R'sner briefly scowling and sighing in irritation, shooting a look to the green that goes completely ignored by her. The slide of Nassir's hand brings his attention back to the present, gaze dropped to follow the tailor into his crouch. While he accepts the sandwich, there's a lift of eyebrows at the qualification placed upon sweetrolls and Res' consumption of them. "Turning into a Healer, are you?" he huffs, though he's quick enough to start in on the eating of that sandwich, his hunger betraying his earlier statement.

Nassir exhales a snort as he snags a handful of grapes for himself. "Hardly," he assures. "It's purely selfish on my part. I have a vested interest in keeping you healthy and energetic." Winking, a mellow laugh spills past his lips, his brows rising and falling as he pops a grape in his mouth. As he chews, his gaze sweeps back toward the weyrling dragons and their wing lifts, one hand raising to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I'm sure Zychaelth is just energetic? Maybe make sure he has some toys to keep him occupied and out of trouble?" Course, he has no idea if dragons like toys, but seems like a reasonable course of action under the circumstances.

"Good," decides R'sner, having swallowed his first bite. "I hate healers." The second bite comes before more words are spoken, and the weyrlingmaster spares a glance back toward Vhaosath and Luyillath who have turned to playfully snapping at each other in what might be a game of 'I'm not touching yooou' dragon-style. "Not so simple," murmured after his second swallow, a pause taken in the wake of it. But whatever flits through his mind is dismissed with a quick shrug of his shoulders and a glance toward Nassir. "We can sit on the patio," he offers, motioning back toward the barracks and the little office beside it before offering his hand to Nassir.

Nassir immediately laces his fingers with R'sner's and after a quick stoop to gather up the basket, he's walking with him toward the patio. It's the notion that it is not as simple as toys being the answer that has him casting a curious glance up at the Weyrlingmaster's face. "Oh? I suppose it is impractical to think of them to much as babies," he muses. Climbing the stairs, he rests the basket on the railing before stepping over to worm his way under R'sner's arm. "You smell good," he decides as he turns his head to nuzzle at R'sner's shoulder.

"They are babies in age," notes R'sner, climbing the stairs to the patio and offering a gentle squeeze to Nassir's hand before he releases it. "But they are not at all like human babies. It is difficult to describe," he admits, draping his arm over Nassir's shoulders as he wiggles in beneath it. "They are… young and immature, but with the means and strength to get into quite a lot of trouble," and he nods his head to Vhaosath and Luyillath, who have given up on wingstretches entirely and have gotten into what might be a game of tag. "Easily distracted, but also unintentionally destructive; though with Zychaelth… I think it's intentional." An almost amused snort for that, though he turns his thoughts away from the weyrling blue as his gaze drifts back to Nassir. A bite of sandwich provides an excuse not to comment verbally on the way he might smell, though there's longer look directed at the tailor as Res tightens his arm around him.

Nassir will happily take the Weyrlingmaster's non-verbal response as utterly positive, a fact made clear when he winds his arms around the man's waist and settles into a comfortable lean against the heat of his body. It's cold. Even if it is warm, for Igen born tailor? It's cold. "Intentionally destructive?" Looking up, he furrows his brow, absently blowing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Did something happen?" Curious, both because they are R'sner's charges and because Igen will be having weyrling dragons of their own in the not to distant future, he glances toward the field, his lips twitching as he watches the pair playing tag.

Toith is keeping a watchful eye on the pair of playing dragons and, while it might not be wingstretches, it is still /exercise/, which is the important thing. And though R'sner's gaze flits briefly to the pair as they bugle and trumpet with delight, it returns to Nassir quick enough. He is confident enough that Toith will put a stop to anything too dangerous, and content to act as a heat-source despite finding no issue with the temperature, himself. The final bite of his sandwich goes into his mouth before he's answering. A breath is taken, but there comes a pause as Res debates how best to explain his thoughts in regards to the little blue. "I don't mean to imply that he is intentionally… I don't know. It is as though he enjoys chaos and causing mayhem, though I am not certain he truly understands the ramifications of his actions…?" Maybe. Apparently describing the little hellion is difficult. As for what happened, well… "Got himself into the hotsprings. Scared quite a few people and cause a fair bit of damage." A beat, and he adds, "He is unharmed."

The moment it becomes clear that the dragon is unharmed, Nassir exhales a quiet laugh, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh my. Well. I'm sure you'll find a way to make him understand that he has to be careful." In the wake of the words, he reaches into the basket and pulls out a sweetroll to press into R'sner's hand. See? Eat your food, get desert! "Cookie asked me to find out if you prefered them with or without the nuts, by the way. Apparently, she's quite taken with my courtship." Hey, all things being equal? It's good to have a cook on your side on matters of romance. "Did the hotsprings survive the dragon's bath, though?" And after a moment, he asks curiously— because he really doesn't know. "How much control do the weyrlings have over them?"

R'sner looks somewhat skeptical at that, though all he really offers is a murmured, "We'll see," in regards to Zychaelth. Sandwich gone and sweetroll given, there's a glance toward Nassir before he's hiding whatever expression might have wanted to spill across his face with a quick and enthusiastic bite out of his dessert. A shrug of shoulders for his preference, though he at least follows it up with a verbal, "I like both," is all he will say about sweetrolls and courtships, once he's swallowed that initial mouthful. The arm around the tailor's shoulders gives a little squeeze before he's bobbing his head towards a chair, the intention being that they ought to /sit/. And yes, he fully expects that Nassir will end up claiming a seat in his lap, rather than dropping into a chair of his own. "/It/ survived," for the hotsprings. "Though all of the soapsand and a few towels had to be replaced, and a fair number of guests consoled," he recalls with a grimace. "And he is only going to get bigger," is likely meant in regards to Zychaelth. The question of control is given a funny look, and a brief glance is spared to Toith where she devoutly ignores him. "I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'control'…"

Nassir exhales another quiet laugh, both in response to the state of the hotsprings and the notion of Toith being controlled by anyone. "Fair point," he concedes. Stepping back, he snags another handful of grapes from the basket before sweeping over and absolutely making himself comfortable on R'sner's lap. It is only he has the cloak artfully arranged and grape in his mouth that he smooths and arm over the Weyrlingmaster's shoulders and settles into a comfortable curl against his chest. "Much better," he admits. "So how are you going to handle Zychaelth's antics," he asks before popping another grape in his mouth.

"I'm not," murmurs R'sner, head turned to press a lingering kiss to Nassir's head. His arm settles comfortably around the tailor, holding him against his chest as Res stretches out and relaxes as best he can in the chair he's claimed. "Suyi is going to handle him, and his antics. I'll guide her in it," he explains, "But she is his rider, and it will be her job to keep him in line. My job is to provide appropriate motivation," and potential discipline, "to ensure that she understands the importance of doing so." Another bite of sweetroll vanishes, and he turns quiet as he chews it in contemplation.

There is something oddly comfortable about being nestled in R'sner's lap watching the dragons playing on the training field. At the kiss to his brow, the tailor smiles quietly, dark lashes sweeping down in a half lidded expression as he traces the folds of the Weyrlingmaster's shirt. "She'll get a handle on it," Nassir assures in quiet tones. After a moment of silence an almost wicked laugh hums in his throat, a pointedly devilish expression tracing over his features. "Try as I might," he admits. "I just can't find anything not enticing about the thought of you laying down some discipline."

And playing they are, though Toith offers a bit of a warning rumble when their tumbling turns especially rough. It is a sound that makes R'sner grin faintly in ironic amusement, the expression just touching eyes and lips as he peers towards his dragon. The last bite of sweetroll vanishes and and soon swallowed. "Mm," to Nassir's assertion about Suyi. Agreement, perhaps, as Res spends a moment gently nibbling the sugar from thumb and finger before he's offering a soft huff of dry amusement and slanting his gaze down to where Nassir rests against him. "I assure you, it's not nearly as… exciting as you might envision," he argues. "I barely ever raise my voice."

Nassir exhales a snort, dark eyes slanting a glance up at R'sner's face. "You /have/ to know that that only makes it sexier," he asserts. "Feel free to use quietly stern tones whenever you like." Not that it would do a thing to change Nassir's behavior, but he'll enjoy it regardless. Shifting in R'sner's lap, he turns his gaze back toward the dragons, his expression softening considerably. "I like watching them play," he decides in mellow tones. "How long until they are flying?"

R'sner declines from commenting on that, though there's a brief twitch of eyebrows and a pointed look down at the tailor as he meets his gaze. It's a look that attempts to be stern but utterly fails when the side of his mouth sort of twitches for the smile he's holding back. He drops another kiss to the tailor's forehead before his gaze follows to the tumbling and running weyrling dragons. "By themselves, or with riders?" but he doesn't wait for clarification before he is answering, "Within the next month or so, by themselves. It will be some time before they are strong enough to support the weight of a rider, however."

Another mellow laugh hums in Nassir's throat, dark eyes twinkling at the sight of the smile being held back. At the kiss on his brow, he tilts his head up, a brief brush of lips whispering over R'sner's before he settles his head comfortably on his shoulder and returns to watching the dragons. "So instilling discipline now, before they are airborne is very important," he muses. "That makes sense. I'm curious though, I thought Ashwi was talking about making straps? If it will be so long before they can carry a rider, why make the straps now?"

"In flight," clarifies R'sner, head turned to nuzzle against Nassir's head as he ignores the playing dragons and concentrates on the tailor. "They will be riding them around the field soon enough," murmured against soft curls as he continues his explanation, "but they won't be flying together until they are closer to a turn in age." A sigh is expelled before he's opening his eyes and peering toward Toith and the weyrling pair once again. "It is about building muscle, and strength. Stamina. Before they can fly for any length of time, or carry a rider in flight." As for discipline, a curl at the corner of his mouth hints at a smile that is not fully realized before he's speaking again. "But yes. Control and discipline is important. And will only get more so as they grow." A glance for Toith, who deigns to meet his gaze this time, if just because his thoughts have turned nostalgic. "Toith broke my nose as a weyrling," he offers, "And at the time, I did not understand why it was that the weyrlingmaster had me running laps for it. At the time, I thought it was unfair; that I couldn't possibly have done anything about it, and why was I being punished for her actions when I was already hurt? I get it now, though."

Nassir is quiet as he listens, dark eyes sweeping to R'sner's face as he reaches up to trace the line of his nose. "It gives you character," he decides. As his hand falls back down to rest on R'sner's chest, he furrows his brow, the confusion in his gaze clear. "Why?" Clearly, he doesn't see the reason for R'sner having to run laps. Granted, the thought of a young R'sner running laps is not the least bit unpleasant. "So I can thank your Weyrlingmaster for these thighs," he teases.

"Because she is mine," is the simple answer, eyes dropped to Nassir at the trace of his old injury. "Because," continues R'sner, understanding without being asked that further explanation might be welcome, "as her rider, I am responsible for her actions. Whether I am aware of them, or not. And tackling people - even if that person is /me/ - is not acceptable behavior for a dragon. It is important for weyrlings to learn that early, because it will hold true for their entire life." And those dragons will only get bigger! "And so I ran laps, with a broken nose, because my dragon tackled me against my will. And I learned to keep tabs on Toith and put my foot down on anything that would be… inappropriate." As for those thighs of his? "Heh. Him, and my Wingleader, who thought physical fitness a necessity for all in the Wing." And then it became habit, and of course now he leads by example. "He was not wrong. Taking care of a dragon is hard work."

Nassir had no idea how much riders had to go through, his appreciation for the training clear when he turns his gaze back to the dragons on the training field. "They are very lucky to have you," he decides. Falling silent for a beat, his expression softens, a quiet breath spilling past his lips. "They will do you proud, I have no doubt of that." Shifting his weight, he smooths a hand over his face, exhaling a sigh as he turns to brush a kiss over R'sner's lips. "I have to head back, though. I'm nearly caught up with my work and I want to get the last of it done. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You're biased," is murmured against dark curls, R'sner's voice low and nearly inaudible. But he shifts as Nassir does, accepting the kiss brushed against his lips and protesting only slightly when it doesn't linger. He does not /sigh/, but there is a general expression of resignation as he loosens his grasp in preparation for Nassir's standing up. "I will be here," he declares with a hint of a smile; teasing. Because where else would he be, other than the weyrling's training field? But before he will relinquish Nassir completely, there is a quick catch of his jaw and a much firmer kiss delivered; a fierce and demanding thing that ends as abruptly as it began as R'sner pulls back and lets his arm fall away. "Be safe."

Nassir melts into that kiss, a low groan humming in his throat. When it ends, he exhales his own sigh of longing, his shoulders giving a little sobering shake. "I cannot wait to go to Xanadu," he murmurs as he scoops up the basket. A few days alone with R'sner? Exactly what the tailor ordered. Still, he's smiling, swooping back in for another kiss before moving to descend the stairs. R'sner will be here which guarentees that Nassir will not be far behind and the thought inspires a smile as he waves to Toith. "Good night, Toith," is called before he glances back at the Weyrlingmaster and winks. "I'm one hundred percent biased when it comes to you." And with that, he is off, running to meet T'sul before the rider leaves without him.


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