Awkward Conversations and... Mud.

Spring - 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.


It's spring in Half Moon Bay! And that means… MOAR RAIN. Really, rain is the predominant season, no matter what the calendar might say. Autumn? Rain. Winter? More rain. Spring? Definitely raining. And yet… weyrling dragons still require lessons, and exercise. Which means weyrlingmasters (Namely, R'sner) is required to be out and about despite the precipitation that makes such a thing undesirable at best. It is, at least, a light shower at the moment rather than the heavy deluge it could be, and Res has forgone a hood or cloak and is just… dealing with it. Of course Toith is loving it because rain means mud, and mud means messes, and messes are Toith's specialty. So while the weyrlingmaster is carefully observing the actions and intentions of younger beasties, he's devoutly ignoring Toith's languid mud-rolling that is happening behind him. Sigh.

Ugh. Mud. For what its worth, it seems to be an opinion shared by both weyrling bronze and weyrling rider, as the pair emerge from the barracks, each stepping lightly (though perhaps not so far as -dainty-), carefully planning their course around the muddiest spots, though Ysgieuth draws to a stop as soon as he spots Toith, and his tone betrays his shock even more than his words, completely forgetting exactly what roll Toith - or at least her rider - plays. « Toith, I had no idea you were a porcine. » Clearing his throat, though, Z'tan fails at getting the bronze moving again, sighing as he glances around to spot R'sner, looking almost apologetic.

Speaking of messes… Nassir has finally managed to get the last of the sand and dragon saliva out of his hair. Needless to say, the tailor's mood is high, high enough that even the light rain is met with an easy smile. Having been washed about thirty five times, his long fall of heavy curls have been twisted up into a loose bun on the back of his head, a few stray tendrils spilling down to hang in his eyes. Having been dropped off by T'sul— who apparently spent the evening thinking up every possible dragon spit joke— there is a bounce in his step as he makes his way out to the training field with a basket of goodies over his arm. Along the way, he flashes a brilliant smile at Toith, long fingers waggling as he winks at the dragon before drawing to a halt at the outter edge of the field. "You look like you are enjoying your mud bath," he points out in merry tones. Without missing a beat, his airy wave takes in the weyrling and his dragon, his smile broadening as his gaze sweeps toward R'sner. "See, I /knew/ you'd look good wet." Hey, he had to deal with T'sul, ribbing is only fair.

« Biggest one 'round, » agrees Toith with enough cheeky sarcasm to suggest that she is not at all offended by the observation and, in fact, revels in it. Gleeful. Delighted, in fact, at the comparison. And for good measure, she'll make take an especially languid roll in the much and chortle her delight at the squishy mess it makes of her hide. R'sner? He might be twitching, just a little, but it's a shake of his head and a quick, "Don't worry about it," murmured for the look of almost-apology directed his way. "Frankly, I'm just glad it's mud." just mud. "How is Ysgieuth?" and there might just be a touch of envy as he observe the careful and distinctly not mud-seeking steps of the young bronze. But while the question comes, and he's certainly interested in the answer, his gaze is once more sweeping the training field to pick out and follow any other weyrling dragons that might be partaking in the 'fun' of mud and rainfall, and alighting quickly enough upon the visitor hovering at the edge. "You don't have to wait for an invite," will serve as his greeting to Nassir, though he deftly avoids answering that comment on his appearance with nothing more than a subtle shift of his weight and a rake of fingers to push his hair from his forehead. "Just… be careful, it's slick."

Ysgieuth's attention remains on Toith as the older green continues to enjoy the mud - Really who does that?? - tip of his tail beginning to flick ever so slightly. « You are a dragon. Dragons are -not- suppose to roll around in the mud like common farm animals. » There is a mental sniff as he turns his head away, sticking his nose in the air just a little. Only then is he finally moving forward, even as Zel is shrugging at R'sner's question. "Well, Toith's mud puddle did -finally- put an end to the string of questions. Thank Faranth." The weyrling's attention follows R'sner's, pausing on the visitor - or more specifically, that basket on his arm, though the off-handed comment from the tailor causes a smirk to appear on his face for the briefest moment, before he is smoothing it out and offering a nod of greeting.

Nassir flashes a smile at R'sner's words, dark eyes crinkling at the corners in response to the invitation. "Thank you." without missing a beat, he tucks the basket closer against his side, taking a bit more care as he steps through the mud. "I brought lunch," he states as he gets close enough to slip an arm around R'sner's waist. "More then enough for everyone." Since he is never sure how many of the Weyrlings might be out and about, he makes a point to pack enough sandwiches, fruit, and sweetrolls for everyone. "I missed you," is added as he leans up to brush a kiss over the corner of the Weyrlingmaster's mouth. In the wake of the greeting, his gaze sweeps to Z'tan and Ysgieuth, his head dipping in a polite nod of greeting. "So nice to finally get to meet the two of you. I'm Nassir, journeyman tailor from Igen. When you are hungry, our cook made overstuffed sandwiches for all of you."

If Toith were physically able to blow a raspberry at Ysgieuth, rest assured she would. And with great delight as she did it, too. « An' yet, heres I am, rollin' 'round like a farm an'mal an' lovin' it, » she observes with smug satisfaction and then a burst of mirthful amusement for the upturned nose. R'sner is decidedly ignoring the banter, though there is a brief, resigned sort of exhale that is not /quite/ a sigh and a long-suffering look over his shoulder toward his green. And then he is back to pretending he has no idea what she's doing over there. Ignorance is bliss, even if it's feigned ignorance. The slide of Nassir's arm provides a welcome distraction, and though he is considerably damp from the hours already spent in the rain, Res drapes an arm over the tailor's shoulders with the casual ease that might suggests the action has become habit. A low "mm," is the only reply however, though there's a drift of his gaze from tailor to basket at the mention of sandwiches. "Yeah, she's good for that," is offered somewhat belatedly Toith's mud puddle. "What sort of questions, now?" he wonders, idly curious as he follows the path of the young bronze.

Greens, man. Am I right? Ysgieuth spares another look at Toith, though thankfully for Pern he can't actually roll his eyes.. And more thankfully, there is the mention of lunch, and he is turning his attention towards Nassir, creeping slowly forward towards where Nassir stands near the WEyrlingmaster. "Ysgie.. No." Z'tan mutters softly, the bronze at least pausing where he is - for now - while the human half of the pair offers a wide smile to Nassir. "Pleasure, Nassir. Zel, or well, I guess Z'tan, and he's Ysgieuth - and hopefully he will remember that sandwiches -aren't for dragons-." Clearing his throat, he shakes his head, before there is an interesting shade of red appearing on his face. "Uhm, well. About some certain people. And uhm, interesting dreams in particular." Whoops. "Its fine, he's distracted now." Just don't think too much, right?

Leaning comfortably against R'sner, Nassir slips a hand into the basket, producing a sweetroll. A moment later it is pressed into R'sner's hand with an easy wink. "There is nothing as wonderful a good roll in the mud," Nassir notes in clear defense of Toith. "So good for the skin and hair." Much, much better then sand. In the wake of the words, he sucks the sugar off his fingers, his gaze sweeping back to Z'tan and Ysgieuth. "It's fine," he assures Z'tan at Ysgieuth's approach. "I am afraid I have nothing for you, Ysgieuth," he notes in apologetic tones. "The sandwiches are for your lifemate." Unfortunately, he's just not physically capable of carrying enough meat for young dragons. "It is very nice to meet you, however." Turning his gaze to Z'tan, his smile warms the arm with the basket extending in offering to the weyrling. "Help yourself." At the mention of people and dreams and blushing, Nassir quirks a brow, keenly interested now. "Oh? Sweet on someone, Z'tan? Ashwi? Tanit?" He's guessing, but oh, is he guessing.

Greens. Though Toith takes particular pride in challenging just about any and every known fact and stereotype ever associated with them, right down to the very notion that they are female. But no. As much as she may wish otherwise she is, in fact, female. A pained look crosses R'sner's face, a grimace that is briefly directed toward Nassir when he says, "Don't encourage her, really. You don't have to wash her later." But the sweetroll is accepted gladly, a squeeze of his arm given in lieu of a verbal 'thanks' as he lifts it for a bite. The creeping of Ysgieuth gets a glance, but is of little concern. Unlike a few exuberant siblings (such as Zychaelth, or Jovianth), Res does not seem concerned that the bronze might accidentally squish them. There is, however, a lift of eyebrows and a quick "Ah," in reply. And that particular 'ah' sounds an awful lot like R'sner knows exactly what kinds of questions Ysgieuth might be asking. And so he inquires no further the subject other than, "Good luck." It's a quick shake of his head that comes for Nassir's question, a dry but definitely half-serious, "he'd better not be, considering there are rules prohibiting such things." Or at least, prohibiting the pursuit of such things. Cue side-eye toward Z'tan as though to take his measure, another bite take out of the sweetroll for good measure.

Look what you did, Nassir… At the gentle rebuke from the tailor, Ysgieuth is grumbling softly, though the creeping at least stops, and he turns to look at Z'tan. « But I am hungry too. » Rolling his eyes, "Ysgie, you are -always- hungry. We'll go in a little while." A roll is stolen from the offered basket, before the weyrling is running his free hand through his hair, staying that shade of pink. "Well, uh, this time I think it may have been this amazing goldrider, Jaz. I mean, though, I -like- Tanit, but.." He waves a hand at Ysgie, which in turn probably indicates 'all' of the weyrling dragons. "Though, honestly, half the time I'm not sure if there is someone specific. Frankly, I don't think I'd care who." And then, his eyes widen slightly, and he is hurriedly turning to take a bite of his sandwich and curtail his rambling, which has drawn renewed interest from his young life mate.

Nassir exhales a snort as he glances up at R'sner and winks. "But I would be delighted to help you wash her, Weyrlingmaster. You need only ask." It is R'sner's last, however, that inspires a husky laugh to spilling past Nassir's lips, the tailor's hand smoothing over the greenrider's hip. "There is a far cry from thinking about a thing to doing a thing. And really? If he has questions about sex it is better to ask then not know." Not knowing can lead to worlds of trouble, after all. Turning his attention back to Z'tan, his lips twitch in a smile, his chin dipping in an easy nod. "Well, that's normal," he assures. "Being… stirred.." See? He's trying to be delicate about it. "You have…. you know?" he asks. At the 'you know', his wrist gives a quick twist, long fingers flashing in a flourish. "You have had sex before? I mean, if not, I'd be happy to talk you through it. Of course, you have to wait for the doing til it's permitted."

There is a particularly long, and particularly pointed, look affixed to Nassir and for a moment, R'sner says nothing at all. Nothing. Just… Silence. And then that silent gaze slides on over to Z'tan with not nearly as much weight behind it. And still, silence. The final bite of his 'roll, taken. The thorough mastication of it. A slow swallow. "That," he decides, choosing the offer of talking him through it to finally speak up, "Won't be necessary. It is a subject that will be covered thoroughly once the dragons are more mature." That he can say such with a straight face MIGHT be to his credit, even if he's looking a bit less friendly regarding the whole subject at hand. "And it is best," he offers to Z'tan, "To just answer whatever questions you can on the matter, lest Ysgieuth decide to ask someone else for the information." Because really, with weyrlings? Nothing is secret anymore.

"Uhm, yeah. I am good on that front. Though, well, with a dry spell like this, who know if I'll remember. But I'm sure I'll find someone willing to help. I mean, how could -all- the girls resist me?" Z'tan tries to laugh the whole thing off, even as he shifts a bit awkwardly as R'sner's reaction stretches into longer and longer bits of silence, and then he is hurriedly taking another bite of his sandwich, while Ysgie peers curiously at his life mate, and then the weyrling dragon is turning his attention back to Toith. « Is this one your lifemate's favorite wrestling partner, Toith? » He asks easily - without any mention of the mud this time. « Mine seems to not make up his mind. » Seems that he is about to make R'sner's point.

Noting the look on R'sner's face, Nassir exhales a warm laugh, his brows rising and falling in a playful twitch. "Well? I mean really? You /do/ have a lot you can teach him." Oh, he loves when R'sner gets all silent and judgey and DOOM. Fortunately, he knows when to back down, at least a little bit and promptly clears his throat. "Well you /do/," is murmured under his breath. Without missing a beat, Nassir's regard sweeps back to Z'tan, his smile remaining warm despite the merry twinkle in his eyes. "Wait til you see Maisy," he assures. "She's the junior weyrwoman at Igen? Gorgeous." Hey, he like girls, too. He just happens to have fallen ass over tea kettle for Sir Grumps-A-Lot. "How much longer til you can scratch that itch?" Surely it is not the /entire/ time.

« Ah, now ya wanna talk t' me? » wonders Toith who is, of course, still rolling in her mud puddle. But really, she knows better than to actually offer any insight into the subject of her lifemate's wrestling partners, though she will offer a (maybe less than) helpful, « He's got plen'y o' time t' decide, » for Z'tan's indecision. « Or e'en try 'em all b'fore he does. Ya know. T' make an inform'd decis'n. » Romantic advice from Toith. It could be worse. Though poor Res. This is quickly becoming the sort of conversation that is bound to make him twitch and fidget and look all the more grumpy the longer it continues. It is also becoming an increasingly inappropriate conversation for a weyrlingmaster to be a part of. And Nassir. DEAR Nassir, who seems all too happy to poke at those grump-inducing buttons that have R'sner shooting him looks of a particularly tight-jawed variety. The addition of Ysgieuth deciding to inquire after wrestling partners with Toith, who happily informs R'sner (because what is a lifemate /for/ if not to torment your other half!) and he looks about ready to bolt. But, oh wait. He CAN'T bolt because he's the freakin' authority figure in this little equation, and running away from one of your weyrlings is just bad form. And so there is another pointed look (this time directed one-hundred and ten percent at Z'tan and his attempt to laugh things off) and a rather rough clearing of his throat that has the distinct 'this is no longer acceptable conversation' ring to it. "Until the dragons are at least one turn in age." Because the safest option in all of that was answering the when of it all.

"Maisy, hmm?" Zel offers, considering Nassir's words. "Maybe I'll have to find a good reason to hang around Igen, after a while." A pause, and a crooked smirk. "Something to be said for finding a goldrider in every Weyr, right?" So, maybe that is a little ambitious, but it doesn't hurt to dream, right? Ysgieuth seems even more confused after Toith's non-answer answer, the bronze turning to peer back at Zel, cocking his head like an over-sized dog, the weyrling just blinking up at him. "I, uh, I'll explain later." He starts, before that look from R'sner, and the comment from Nassir has him shifting a bit. "Actually.. Weren't you hungry Ysgie? Maybe we should go get you some lunch." He clears his throat as he starts to shuffle away, trying to make a clean escape. "Weyrlingmater, sir. Nassir, pleasure to meet you." Shuffle, shuffle.. And at least Ysgie has been distracted by the mention of food and is happy enough to wander as well.

"I think there is more to be said for finding someone who makes your heart race, the sun rise and…" Trailing off, Nassir clears his throat and glances at R'sner with an exceedingly warm smile. "But you do you, Z'tan." He's not about to begrudge anyone their good time. And, he is very aware of R'sner's /look/, a fact made clear when he takes to examining his nails rather intently. "What," he murmurs. "It's true. Take care Z'tan, it was definately a pleasure," he assures.

"Don't make me ground you." It's not an empty threat, either. R'sner is darn serious about it if he thinks Z'tan might take liberties with the rules. Not that the dragons are going anywhere currently, not even flying yet. That the weyrling and his bronze are soon departing under the pretense of lunch? R'sner might actually look a bit relieved for it, though he offers a courteous enough, "Z'tan," in farewell. And yet, their departure does not bring about any sort of ebb in tension; R'sner still doing a fairly good job of looking gloomy and stiff, particularly tight-jawed and with a gaze that looks at Toith despite previously ignoring the hell out of her muddy-green self. A moment or two before he decides, "I'm getting out of the rain," and turns with the distinct purpose of doing just that, heading for the weyrlingmasters office. He does, however, assume that Nassir is coming with him, and does not make an attempt to outpace him.

Nassir notes the tightened jaw and less then pleased gaze and lightly clears his throat. When R'sner moves toward his office, he adjusts the basket on his arm and is quick to catch up with him. "You know…" Whatever he was going to say, however, is swallowed. At the moment? Probably better to see how hot the blaze is before sticking his hand into the flame. In order to keep himself quiet, he pulls a handful of grapes from the basket, popping two in his mouth while following the Weyrlingmaster up the stairs.


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