Meeting New Dragons

Day 6 of Month 4 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.


Rukbat is shining, the birds are singing, flowers are budding into bloom. It's spring time in Half Moon bay, and cue one pale gleaming flash bounding out from the barracks, to 'leap' atop one of the work tables to a ledge, and up to another and down to pounce on the nearest thing Chauth finds. #Sorrynotsorry. Tanit is in slower pursuit of the young dragon, eying the table that gave a definite creek and groan after the dragon's trajectory. Just another morning in the Weyrling barracks.

Ysgieuth clearly had enough of the other weyrlings quite early this morning - and so the warm, dark-hued bronze is settled out in the training field, wings spread wide as he enjoys the sun - and the quiet. « Chauth! Why -must- you bounce around like a feral kitten? » He declares loudly as the pale-gold appears and begins (at least in his mind) to ruin his peace and relaxation. Zel? Oh, he is there too, settled in the shade of a wing, though if Tanit is close enough, she may hear his groan as Ysg speaks up. "Ysgie, seriously.. Just let her be."

ONE MIGHT FIND THEMSELVES QUESTIONING WHY ILA'DEN IS HERE. Ila'den certainly is, but it's not his fault. All the fault lies to rest at the feet of one hulking, over-bite, fang-baring, midnight bronze who moves with an awkward gait and seems intent on seeing the progeny of his ledgemates up close before Igen's heat and Zeraeth call them back to the sands. « She is strong, » comes on mental talons, raking and rending and bringing with it the white-hot fire of cold, cold, much too cold. It's a blizzard, a brainfreeze white-out that dapples into the minds of Ysgieuth and Chauth alike - a mere curiosity, a tempered acknowledgement that they are here and so is he. And Ila'den? Ila'den is looking from bronze, to gold, to bronze, to bronze, to weyrling, to weyrling to bronze - and laughing. Rumbling, easy, low, husky laughter that doesn't carry and certainly doesn't last more than mere seconds. "I have a feeling she doesn't realize how big she is." But Ila'den is raising one hand in greeting to Z'tan and Tanit both, making no move to get closer. "Hello, Weyrlings. Enjoying your dragons so far?" FRIENDLY IS ALWAYS GOOD, RIGHT? RIGHT. HE'LL… HE'LL AIM FOR THAT.

Light flickers and then sputters bright into existence it wasn't there a minute ago but now it bursts bright in warmth and heat, the chime of laughter and the pirouette from vytol, to clutchmate happens in a flash of limbs and gleaming hide and BOOM, the stocky little bronze is the target of a leap, only for Chauth's attention to divert last moment as the chill of ice and snow draws her attention to a larger target. Undaunted by the chidings. It's the gold's lifemate whose brain is getting wracked for the identity of this 'not the daddy' dragon. "He's fine, she's obnoxious." Tanit notes to Zel with a soft chuckle. And as Ila's presence becomes known, she fixes the man with a blue-green stare. "Define enjoy." The once dolphineer sighs as Chauth bounds and starts her leaping trajectory again, to get a higher vantage on the larger bronze.

Swiveling his head to watch the bouncing ball of gold, Ysgie is tensing, frozen in place except for his wings, which are slowly retracting to avoid any.. incidents. But then, there is another presence, a diversion, and slowly he relaxes, turning to stare at the larger bronze and his human counterpart. « You are -much- too big to go pouncing on things anymore, you know. » He offers with a mental huff, tone disapproving, even as Z'tan is scrambling to his feet at Ila's arrival. Glancing from Tanit to Ila, and back, he shrugs, offering a crooked grin. "Ysgie's great. Weyrlinghood.." Well, lets just say it has been an adjustment. Still -is- an adjustment.

Teimyrth moves, a graceless shift of a too-big body, a tucking in of wings as whirling eyes feign ignorance of the gold's trajectory to higher vantages and settle on Ysgie instead. That lowering of himself is surely just to be more comfortable - right? RIGHT. He's definitely not make it easier for Chauth to see him; that would be too kind and not in his nature (it's a lie, he loves baby dragons). That massive maw lowers, head tilting at an angle, attention focused on the bronze as a rumble of sound escapes him - approval, probably, if the way Ila'den gently pats the hinges of jaw only to trail fingers along his maw gives away any tender indications. But that grey eye goes to Tanit, humor in his smile, laughter in his voice when he responds with, "Whatever your definition of joy is, little fish. You would know better than me." And then his attention is on Z'tan, a shift of that too big body away from Teimyrth and then in against him where he leans, arms crossed over his chest, one foot crossing over the other at the ankle, TOTALLY AT EASE. "You don't have to stand on my account, Faranth knows I'm the last person in this weyr who deserves your respect." A beat, as he waits and… another laugh. "It was not my favorite thing. What do you miss the most?"

Wobble wobble, scamper - oops. Chauth totally meant to nearly over shoot that last one. Completely on purpose. Never mind the way front paws are sliding down the rock and that tell tale but wriggle that is the preparation for a leap. Probably not a good idea giving her a landing pad Teimy. Too late now. LEAP! Tanit realizes too late and squeezes eyes shut. « Wanna bet Ysgie? » The bright white flicker dancing as her mental presence makes itself known as suddenly as that pounce. "I imagine that children are less harrowing than baby dragons, it's like skipping the baby stage and jumping straight into the terrible twos." Tanit notes with a sigh, "Lets see, drinks - dancing - days not spent covered in glitter and gore? OH I know, sleeping somewhere where I'm not listening to other dragon's snoring."

Ysgieuth's eyeroll can probably be heard as Chauth launches herself downwards, the weyrling bronze just shuffling a bit further away from Teimyrth, just in case. « Child. » Humph. He keeps a lingering eye on his clutch sister, ensuring that she is definitely not going to sneak up on -him-. Meanwhile.. do you -really- want the answer to that, Ila? "Well for starters, the pretty obvious one. S-" But then it seems Zel thinks better of it, though he has definitely also thought too much of it, given the sudden confusion from Ysgie, who is suddenly scrambling to sit more upright, peering at Z'tan. « Why do you want to wrestle with Tanit? » And now it is Z'tan left to scramble, moving to absently check on Ysgie's far side even as he turns a lovely shade of red. "Right, where did you say you were itching, Ysgie?" He says -much- too loudly, even as the bronze rumbles in confusion.

Does Teimyrth mind? NAH GURL. He a big bronze; he just BRACES FOR IMPACT and parts with a rumble-growl that's less warning, more amusement for the goldlet's antics. He doesn't scold, or chide, or attempt to dissuade her; he lets her learn, lets her pounce, lets her rough and tumble because he can take it. « You should try higher, » comes with winter's kiss, a fragile snow to belie the fury of an impending maelstrom, a hint of something cozy beneath the pine-y scent of evergreens. « Tuck your wings in closer to your body, move lightly on your feet. Do not let them know you are coming. » And all while Ila'den listens for answers, raising a brow at Tanit and giving way to one of those wolfish smiles for Z'tan. "You can still dance, Tanit. One of your lessons is going to be on dance, the glitter is probably your fault, and the gore is somehow justice, I am sure of it." AND OH POOR Z'TAN. "You'll find ways to cope," is all that Ila'den offers, something akin to mischief in that proclamation, something that gives way to more husky laughter for baby dragon hiccups and red-faced cover-ups. "Do you want any help, Z'tan?" Because Ila'den definitely doesn't want to laugh at him, that's NOT IT AT ALL.

Chauth is all over this, head tilting as she heeds the instructions leaping down to prepare a second attempt. Ysgie's overshare. It only halts her for a moment as she peruses the human filing cabinet for a moment, maybe applying those sneaky techniques to picking her rider's brain. It must have worked because Tanit seems utterly unphased as the gold replies, « He probably thinks that about lots of females. » Chauth gives a mental shrug. Tanit, at least is chatting as if none of this is going on. Will power? Or is the gold keeping this all on the down low? WHO KNOWS. She lifts a brow at the laughter and does try not to smirk. "Mm, yes - but now I have to actually attempt to leave a good impression when I dance, and not cause a political fiasco." Which possibly suggests that her idea of dancing involves tequila and tables and not Blue Danabue by Strauss or whatever the pernese equivalent is.

"I'm good.." Comes the muffled reply from Z'tan, still keeping Ysgui's bulk between himself and the others, though it seems the questioning has hardly stopped. « Who was is that? Will I meet her? » And then, the bronze is shuffling away from his life mate, turning to attempt to peer at him. « I do not itch, why do you act like that. » And then the slow, steady rhythm of his mind turns towards the pouncer and the pounced, curious. « Do yours enjoy wrestling? » Zel just sighs, squeezing his eyes shut, counting silently to ten until he seems to sort of regain some sort of composure. "We were suppose to practice dancing, weren't we?" Though, is that too close to 'wrestling'?

Teimyrth is content to allow himself to be a pounce toy, issuing gentle commands and corrections of, « Footing, » and, « Tail, » and, « Try again. » He's unfazed, immobile, watching progress and progression alike while Ila'den laughs and raises his brows. "Tanit, have you met my daughter? She's about this tall, also a goldrider, doesn't seem to care about the venue or the audience so long as she's dancing? Don't set ridiculously high standards for yourself, this isn't Fort Weyr where we haven't even embraced electricity yet." You know, FULLY. SORRY TH'BRO. GAUNTLETS THROWN, ETC. But there's Ysgie and his question, and Teimyrth's attention is drawn away from Chauth to the bronze, lowering his head and maw so that he might better see the bronze. The question is considered in its entirety, greeted with cold Northern winds and the scent of burning pine in what's probably his own amusement. « All humans enjoy wrestling, young one. It is how they practice. » BUT FOR WHAT? HE DOESN'T SAY. He just shifts and settles and looks to Chauth. And okay, he answers. « Like your sister practices now, to make herself better. » Ila'den, on the other hand, is looking at Z'tan and then raising his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "If you mean right now, I'm only here because Teimyrth wanted to see the dragons. You can take up the dancing and the when with R'sner." BECAUSE NOPE.

A secret? Chauth's ghost light flickers and pops more fully against her clutch sibling's thoughts, enticing him to share, The question however earns a pause, and shift in color of the fire. The elder bronze's assertion earns an almost evil peal of laughter bright with sparks of color and fire, « Define wrestling? » Chauth enquires, the lights bursting apart to illuminate flickers of recent memory, small faces with sea green eyes who pat and tug on things like wings and tails. « You mean practicing the kind of wrestling that leads to that? Or .. » Chauth leaps from her newly acquired perch on the elder bronze to attempt to tackle her brother. « This kind? » Because practice does make perfect, even as the gold pays particular attention to where her paws land. If Teimyrth gets accidentally swatted with that 'tail' well - oops. "Are you telling me that Risali should be my role model Ila? How does Cita feel about this thought process?" Because lets face it the healer is likely to be the one dealing with the fall out.

Ysgieuth quiets as he considers the older bronze's words, though thankfully for Zel's sake, he doesn't share the actual mental image that started this whole thing. Settling back down, he carefully arranges himself to watch the gold's practice of a different sort, gently whuffling Z'tan as the young man rejoins him, leaning against him lightly. "I think as long as it isn't in the middle of the Lord Holder of Telgar's table, you are probably okay. He is just sort of stuffy." He offers, laughing softly though, at Risa being the "role model".

And Teimyrth considers even as his bulk is used as a springing board, a shift and rustling of tucked wings the only real acknowledgement of Chauth's weight parting. He takes the image, shares back with her images of his own lifemate's children, of eggs on sands and young dragons - her, Ysgie. « All of life creates more life, young one. » Another winter storm, a gentle flurry of snow that sends the pictures away without any real answer being given. NOT HIS MONKIES, NOT HIS CIRCUS, NOT HIS JOB. "There is no rule saying that a gold dragon or responsibility means you have to change. There are rules and games in politics, but I've never heard of a deal going sour because somebody deigned to dance." And that brow arches as Ila'den moves, away from the shelter of Teimyrth's body, away from the potential of maiming while young gold queens ask questions and tackle their siblings. "And are you asking about Citayla? My weyrmate?" Laughter. "Little fish, you must not know Cita very well at all. You will get to know her though, and you will find that Half Moon Bay Weyr is not representative of stuffy, stringent leadership." Here, there be glitter on the sands and Weyrwomen who go barefoot to meetings and eat food out of jars. BEWARE! "Like I said, we're not Fort Weyr. Citayla would probably sooner laugh and join you for a dance than scold you." A beat, and then that grey eye is on Z'tan. "I disagree; sometimes dancing on the tables is exactly the kind of terrorism they need." EHHH?

The all life creates more life only earns a sort of Duh, from the gold, but she can't answer Ysgie's question if she doesn't know which he means. Fortunately perhaps for all involved, she is distracted by a flash off something that sends her darting after the little fleck of light that is now racing up the side of the bowl wall. "Well since both she and R'hyn did manage to show up to the last Weyrmate wearing real clothes and not bunny slippers. I would say it's a fine thing that we are not Fort Weyr. I couldn't handle the weather for one." The dolphineer sighs, shifting her attention to the dragon that is now trying to climb the wall. "This is all your fault." She notes to Ila, with a snort at Z'tan. "I've heard that about most of the holds that have actual 'nobility' which honestly should be about as ancient and ridiculous a concept as fighting thread." And yet? Here we are.

"Are you sure? Have you -met- Telgar?" Z'tan asks with a look of surprise at Ila, shaking his head a little bit. "You can dance on his tables, I will stay right here, far far away." The weyrling shakes his head again hurriedly. "I'll stay here, and enjoy paradise. Or, well what -would- be paradise, if there weren't so many rules." Ysgie's attention on Teimyrth lingers as the bronze gives his round about explanation, but for now, there are no more questions at least.

"And you're welcome, Tanit," Ila'den answers, RUDE-LIKE and around a smile showing too damn many teeth. But his attention is back to Z'tan, and there's easy, rumbling laughter to precede his answer. "I have, and Telgar has had the… misfortune of meeting me as well. I'm still not sure how Half Moon Bay is still standing after I stepped in as Weyrleader for a time." IT PROBABLY ENDED BAD. REAL BAD. LIKE BANNED FOR LIFE FROM TELGAR BAD. Juuuust kidding, Ila'den knows how to be professional when he (LONG SUFFERING SIGH) needs to be, but that is neither here nor there; here is Teimyrth moving, whirling eyes on Chauth, then on Ysgie as he rises, those massive sails uncoiling just enough to stretch before pulling back in. "Well, congratulations to both of you - and I mean it, Tanit. I doubt Chauth chose you because she wanted to see you bow to what the rest of the world expects you to be. Be you - people will like you more for it, or they won't. At least you won't have to wonder." And there's a pat to Teimyrth's neck, the lumbering bronze moving with that awkward gait to depart with Ila'den at his heels, not bothering with goodbye so much as lifting one arm in a lazy wave before he disappears into the weyr proper.


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