Burn, Baby, Burn

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.

NOTE: There is more log before this! If you have it, please feel free to add. <3

Indeed! They are so close to the end, they can probably taste it. MERE WEEKS! And then freedom. But S'van is not thinking about that right now. No. His attention is focused upon his task until he is alerted to the arrival of his fellow Weyrling by Aedeluth first, who turns his head to huff at his little sister, and then Baylee as she greets him. "Hey, Bay," he offers without turning around, swiping that rag once more across a patch of skin that needs tending to. This done, he drapes the rag over the side of his bucket and steps back, steps away, turns around and finally greets her with a proper smile. "How're you?"

"I'm doing ok." Baylee says honestly enough. "Just getting ready and planning for graduation and life after." she says. There has been all kinds of talk between the green and her rider about what wing they want to be in when the graduate, and no decision made yet. One of the joys of having two very different personalities with very different goals between the pair of them. "Lots to think about."

And there's Citayla and Ilyscaeth — fresh from the infirmary, if the massive bandage wrapped around the gold's chest-shoulder region awkwardly have anything to say about it. Looking a little punch-drunk, Cita pats the dragon's opposite shoulder, hums an affirmative to something or other, and disengages to wave at her peers. "Hey, guys." The weyrling smiles, a little slow on the blinking front — fellised, maybe? — as she grabs a bucket to make her own stab at oiling at least some part of her dragon. "Think about?" She ventures, bouncing off of the last-heard bit of conversation, glancing Baylee-wards curiously as she sets to work.

"Certainly," for things to think about, though S'van is looking just a little bit bemused by where she is headed with that thought, considering he is not privy to Myra-Bay internal dialogue. He hazards a guess with a quick, "You and Krenn working things out?" Aedeluth is just lounging. Ignoring Myrakath in favor of the approaching Ilyscaeth. There is a general taking-in of bandaged gold-sibling and a little huff of amusement. Certainly not concerned. "Citayla," is the bronze-weyrling's greeting, friendly enough even if he's giving her a hard look for all that slow blinking. "You OK?"

Enjoying this lovely day, weyrlings? Not anymore. Here comes the fun police, or maybe the revenge of bartender claus, for R'hyn's cruising in with a brisk stride, a satchel hefted over each shoulder because he works for those muscles, so he might as well use them for something other than distracting weyrmates. Both bags clank ominously, though one's more dense, the other more metallic as he approaches the trio of them, chin dipping in nods beneath a bright grin. "S'van, Baylee, Cita." Well. The latter name becomes more a question, gaze skimming from the gold to her weyrling and back. "They let her out so soon?" Hmm. He too squints at the woman, but her status doesn't stop him from thumping his bags down, a quick shuffle of string revealing contents: firestone in one, flamethrowers in another. Guess what today is!? Weyrling Christmas.

Baylee glances over her shoulder to the arriving pair of weyrlings. There's a face that she feels like she hasn't seen in forever, even if it hasn't probably been all that long at all, "Yeah. Just about wings and things. You know how it is." Then it's Krenn's turn for a reply, "Oh yeah. That part is easy enough. We've already developed a kind of plan for the future both short term ang long." When has Krenn ever known Baylee not to be prepared for something that big. And then her attention is stolen away by R'hyn and his eight tiny reindeer. She salutes the weyrlingmaster and peers curiously toward the contents of the bags.

Ily surveys Aede with a nonchalant kind of sniff, flicking her wings primly — nothing to see, here. « Aedeluth, Myrakath. » The weyrling thrums in a happy burst of light, colors swimming and flashing. « Mine's. » That's for the approaching R'hyn, but Cita's not paying attention yet, turning to smile tiredly at S'van. "I'm fine. Ily tripped on a herdbeast." That's a little sheepish, turned to R'hyn as she acknowledges him, lips twisting amusedly. "Who can really stop her?" She wonders, eyes straying to the bag, then back to Baylee. "Oh," The goldrider smiles, wistful. "Wings! What are you thinking of?" A bit of excitement, there, and she nods for the next — understanding, possibly, but quickly distracted by the bag. The healer's expression falls. "Oh, shells."

"Tripped on a herdbeast," repeats S'van , rocking back on his heels to peer up at the great mountain of dragon that is Ilyscaeth. "And yet, she's the one that is hurt? I mean. I am assuming the herdbeast is dead…" right? Cause that makes sense? But he does not ponder this turn of events for long before flicking a grin toward Baylee. "Long term plan?" he teases. "Really? What about spontaneity!" Speaking of, there is a weyrlingmaster approaching with suspicious looking bundles and bulging muscles. The dropping of said bundles earns the weyrling's attention, though it's a wary sort of look that goes R'hyn's direction. "Sir," is his return greeting, arms crossed lightly as he settles back on one leg to consider this new development and the potential consequences of running for the hills. Aedeluth? Ignoring almost everything, though he does send a little flicker of a connection Ilyscaeth's way. There, and gone. That's all the greeting she gets.

Tiny reindeer? More like eight great big targets, vaguely scarecrow-ish in nature, that descend from the heavens! Just kidding. They're lowered by the real star of these reindeer games, Xermiltoth's wings beating a hard backwing in order to carefully lower a line of them alongside Petra's green. The other assistant weyrlingmaster is nowhere to be found, but her dragon helps silently set up before kavanishing again, leaving Xermiltoth to land amongst his children with a croon of greeting. R'hyn flashes a smile over at Ilyscaeth for that 'mine's', but only coughs regarding the gold's predicament, instead fixing Cita with a look and an amused, "You." He allows wing-talk to go on until everything's set, pointedly not commenting to avoid skewing views, finally gesturing with hands when the last dummy's in place. "Alright, gather. This is one of the more fun lessons," depending on your definition of the word. "You get to set things on fire. On purpose." Smirk. "Who knows what these are, how they're supposed to used or ingested, and who else wants to tell me why they're still in use?" QUIZ TIME! In the meantime… « Gather, dragons. Ilyscaeth, it is fitting you chose today to be injured, for this day is reserved for your mine. Still, you must watch, that you know how to instruct others. »

Baylee nods to Cita's questions about wings, "Search and rescue maybe. Or maybe the craft wing." It's one of those sitautions where the discussion is ongoing between dragon and rider, « Hello Illy.» Myrakath chimes in as she looks at the equiptment that is being hauled out onto the field. Interesting stuff that. She sends a sidelong glance toward Sev, "It's overrated." Then as R'hyn calls the lesson to order she listens to the questions and figures she can chime in with an answer since he asked, "It's firestone." she begins. Not wanting to be /that weyrling/ she reserves the other answers so that the others can chime in too.

Cita sighs as Ily roundly ignores her, passing a hand over her face and taking a few deep breaths. Flamethrowers, of all the things. "The herdbeast was, uh. One of Master Bort's long-horned bovines. One of the best ones. Its horns were…very long." The weyrling's expression is bleak — this, it seems, is not a great ting. For her part, Ily is content with what she's got, which also includes not one crap given about those cows. « I won. » She scoffs, a thunder of sound and pride, not bothered by her weyrling's withering look. Instead, she thrums out a happy cascade of music made visible; a happy melody in jewel tones, excited and curious. « Mine will be the best! » She boasts, then sends a happy wave of noise at Myrakath, happy flashes of lightning weaving in. « Myrakath! Will you flame? » The gold asks, while Cita nods, smiling still. "Those are good wings! I guess we still have time yet to decide." She ventures, looking a little sharper now that deadly implements are present. Fire. Hoo boy. And Cita is definitely That Weyrling — or, as much as her knowledge goes, anyways. "Forest control?"

"Were. Were long and sharp," R'hyn notes with the past tense, finally slanting a look sideways concerning the bovine incident. Did he have to be the one to write that up? Probably. Still. The weyrling pair seems to have learned their lesson (insomuch as they will), and so R'hyn moves on, gaze going to Baylee next to purse his lips in thought. Nope, he can't get there. "What craft were you in before impression?" Alas, dragon memory isn't the only one that's bad! But then it's lesson time, and R'hyn's nodding for both answers, grin wide and crooked. "Very good. A lot of S&R wings will execute controlled burns to keep wildfires from raging out of control. Istan wings are also trained for volcanic response in extreme situations to buy time for evacuation." But they're here for the practical!, and so he moves on with, "Firestone's tricky, though. A simple enough concept - your dragon chews it, the breaking down of it results in a chemical reaction that, when belched, enables them to flame - but you must exercise great control for them to chew carefully to mitigate injuries, and be sure it goes to their second stomach." Here he gestures to Baylee, to take firestone from the appropriate satchel and begin feeding it to Myrakath. "Gold dragons are different. How?," is prompted of Citayla, even as he gestures for her to approach, that he might heft a heavy metal cylinder and its agenothree tank for her to slip into. « Do as mine instructs, and chew the firestone carefully, » Xermiltoth bespeaks Myrakath in the meantime. « You will feel gaseous shortly after eating it - this is normal. When you feel the time is right and you must, do not hold back - point your maw at a target before you and let loose. »

« Winning is good. » Myrakath says with gentle waves lapping a beach, « Not getting hurt is better. Safety comes first. » It would be a tragedy to watch a dragon get speared and die. Especially if she was just out looking for a meal. « Yes. I will. I'm going to do all kind of flaming. » Because when you are small like she is you have to have something that sets you apart. Baylee listens to R'hyn as he explains just how the firestone is supposed to work and where it is to go once it is inside. She begins to feed some to the green who takes things slow, « I'm going to do this. » she says psychinng herself up as she does this. True to Xermi's words there is a sort of gas buildup and so she readies herself to blow and when she can't hold it any longer she expels the fire in the direction of the the target. Burn burn burn burn burn!

With a burst of flame, Myrakath sets their target on fire!

« Was delicious. » Ily pipes in, smug and amused, little proud notes in a measured tone. Who's the winner? Ily! Even if she did get a cow horn a foot or two into her shoulder. These things happen. Cita's glare is withering, but also at least a little fond, still drawn into her dragon's mind until she shakes it off, takes another step back. Got to focus, even if she can't feed her dragon 'stone. It's hard when Ilyscaeth makes an amused noise, wings flicking out nonchalantly. « Hurting is part of life, » She imparts, wisely, like she meant to, then falling silent to watch the smaller dragon flame. A blinding flurry of joy and pride flashes through in gleelful brass and lightning, while Cita inches on over to R'hyn and the tank of chemicals. « You did it! » She yells, gleeful, wings flaring out as she rises up on her hind legs in excitement. Cita huffs a laugh through her nose, smiling for Ryn, nose wrinkled. "Ily can't chew it. Won't flame. So I have to. Although, I must tell you, I can't see myself participating in the controlled burns." She points out, bracing for the weight of the thing.

It's midday, and a lovely day at that, and the weyrlings have just witnessed a successful flame! Xermiltoth bugles for Myrakath's victory, eyes whirling fast. « Nicely done, » come golden thoughts, mixing and mingling amidst Ilyscaeth's excitement. « Especially for a first try! How did it feel when it gathered in your gut? What did your instincts tell you? » And, because clearly one success means they get to do it again!: « Try to channel it this time. Hold it in just a little bit, see if you can't identify what it feels like to make a hotter or longer flame. » And, lesson imparted, his attention shifts to Ily with a wry, « You must be very knowledgeable, then. » She need some cream to add to that wrap, cause she just got buuuurned! "You never know," R'hyn responds to her rider, lowering the tank onto the former healer's shoulders, "You might find you have a taste for the job." Wink. "Even so, knowing how to use the thing and give direction's a good place to start. There's the safety there, and your trigger. Some of 'em are a little hairpin, try not to aim at anything important. Next target over's yours." And with a twinkle, he shifts his attention to Baylee. "Once you guys get the hang of it, plan on making a trip out to gather firestone, to replenish what you use. You don't need rider escort so long as you stay in contact."

This, it seems, merits Ily's full attention — she goes quiet, the distant rumble of bass and thunder the only hint of her generally-loud presence in the training grounds. She might not be able to flame, but something tells her this is Important, something she'll need to know at some point, and she listens, tail twitching, neck craning to watch Myrakath' response closely. Whatever it is, Cita misses it, focused on her part of the lesson with a little less intensity. "Hmmm." She mutters, grinning a little lopsidedly, and opens her mouth to respond. She doesn't get that far, though, because Ily attempting to smack Xermi in the side with the end of her tail probably results in him getting face-slapped. « I know enough. » She sniffs, while Cita tries not to conniption and soldiers on. "Do you inspect them?" She ventures, nerves obvious because she's asking a dumb question with an obvious answer; not her usual forte. Nonetheless, she carries on, familiarizing herself briefly with all of the various tubes and nozzles and the trigger before she carefully disengages the safety and sets to work — not an extremely flashy showing, too worried about the potential for injury, but she actually fires the dang thing? Ily's trumpet and exultant noise can most likely be heard around the Weyr. Whoops.

Citayla makes things /very/ hot for target, bathing it in flame.

Long easy strides bear the dolphineer to the center of all the commotion, carefully avoiding the target areas, Tanit makes her way over to the weyrling master with a gleeful grin. "Are you burning things?" And how does one get in on said action, seems to be the implication. Tanit gives a grin and wave to the weyrlings and their lifemates, or at least to the familiar faces amongst said weyrlings. Just in time to witness Citayla bathe a target in flame.

Regardless of Myrakath's answer, Xermiltoth's response is on the enthusiastic side of encouraging before he ushers her off to practice variations on the theme. « It feels like potential, » said for Ilyscaeth's sake - he saw that attention she paid, and just because she can't do the thing doesn't mean she shouldn't know. « Also a bit like indigestion, but indigestion with potential. » Asshole. He deserves that tail-slap, mind bright with a physical rumble that might be laughter before whirling blue eyes focus down on the approaching dolphincrafter. « Thoroughly, » the dragon affirms, not at all shy about beaming his golden thoughts right into hers. « Won't you join us? » The apologetic look R'hyn shoots Tanit is almost reflex - he's permanently sorry for any ear-ringing his loud-ass dragon causes - but the expression is quickly washed away by something eager for the implication she wants to join. "Here," he'll even lift up a spare flamethrower for her to step into, even as his attention focuses all on Citayla. "You do. There's a six-point inspection," said after she's flicking off the safety!, "but I already did it." Twinkle. And then, by jove, she's done it! R'hyn whoops, and Xermiltoth's voice raises with Ilyscaeth's, and you'd think it was a party or something! The bronzerider laughs for the overall enthusiasm, advising Cita with a bright, "Nervous for nothing. Try aiming it low and sweeping it back and forth. See if you can't take the dummy's feet off before the rest catches." Back to Tanit: "Ever flamed before?"

« I am not flaming, I am not allowed. » Ilyscaeth shares her sire's lack of concern for Who She Ought To Talk To, to a certain degree — part of her attention is shared in Tanit's direction, flashing colors and music only slightly blastingly loud as Cita re-sets the safety as soon as she's done. You can't be too careful. "We are!" The weyrling half-turns, smile a little brighter than a moment before whether she approves of the adrenaline or not. « So, like taking a poop. Except the other way. » Ily's mind flashes with youthful amusement towards Xermi; she might grow out of poop jokes with time, but right now a joyous explosion of sea birds to flock in abstract cloud-shapes, delighted with her own cleverness. Look. Xermi set that one up too good to be passed up. Cita is not going to dignify that with a response, instead nodding, looking a little antsy still. "For nothing? I'm a healer, I know what fire does." The weyrling shoots a look for Tanit — patiently (and very possibly wrongly) mocking of Ryn, who's asking that of a dolphincrafter. Bless. She's laughing as she speaks and removes the safety again, though, and looking only a little reluctant a she sets to flaming the dummy's feetsies.

Citayla destroys target in a firestorm, engulfing it in dancing flames that leave ashes in their wake.

Tanit is still getting accustomed to the whole 'dragons addressing her directly' thing, but she's more used to it than she was starting out. And so both gold and bronze get a bow of greeting. Though the healer's look earns a half-smirk. R'hyn gets a smile, a 'really I can play with 20-foot gouts of flame?' a grin that is probably terrible news for anything flammable. "I've seen them used, whenever one of the groves back home catches a blight they use them to clear out the diseased trees, but my parents felt that it wasn't a necessary thing to learn." Ok, more like they feared the kid would get carried away and burn down half the island, but no one needs to hear that story. She gives Cita her best grin, "Well, remind me not to piss you off when you've access to one of those. That is a serious case of hot foot."

Xermiltoth laughs, a great ringing sound with flashes of gold and diamonds enough to make even R'hyn sigh and wince a little so… Maybe not, on the poop-joke front. Maybe it'll be funny forever. « Yes, precisely like that, » said droll because it's not like that at all. Blue-grey eyes slide to Cita for that antsy rebuttal. "For nothing," insisted with a sideways smile. "I know. You also know what lack of sleep can do to a person," kettle kettle kettle, "and yet…" Hand. Wave. And a supremely triumphant look when Tanit confirms she's seen them used, and for practical reasons, too. THHHBT. That's what you get for being a sasspants! "Thank you. Just for that, you get to turn your dial up to ten." There's no dial. There's no ten. But he's thanking her for the ammunition against Cita without saying as much. And then he's helping her with the HNO3 tank, and jerking his chin at the goldrider in question with a, "She can show you what to do. She's practically a pro." Yes, his face flattens when instead of taking off feetsies she ENGULFS THE DUMMY IN A FIRESTORM. Yes, his eyes take on that semi-glazed, semi-dead look that says, 'Welp, you're doomed' and also 'I'm going to pretend I didn't see that.' Yes, he stares for a second longer than is necessary. And yes, he side-eyes Tanit and says, "Good luck!," and then abandons her to move down to where other weyrlings are arriving late from lessons to instruct them. These two can help each other out, right? Riiiiight.

Ilyscaeth's mind ebbs and flows in a happy cloudscape — growing more cloudy, now, writhing with excited lightning and thunderous music building. Cita's flaming, and it's exciting, and she's manic energy barely contained in her young bones. « Mine! It's gone! » The gold crows, somehow managing not to bowl Citayla over when she rushes her rider; instead, she only jostles the weyrling a little, butting her gleefully with her whole face. Cita laughs, a little, a little mystified as she eyes the smoking remnants of what was a dummy until a minute ago. "I got his feet." The healer points out, a little weakly, just…you know, in case R'hyn missed that. She did, in fact, get his feet. And all of the other parts, too. "I sleep more than you do. Has Herry stopped biting you in the middle of the night." The weyrling deadpans, then, because she can't leave the sass unanswered, sniffing a little as she gestures at the various parts of the flamethrower. "Of course I can show you, Tanit! This is the safety…" She starts, and then explains in a manner not…really necessarily especially helpful, probably. R'hyn, come back! « Xermiltoth, watch! The little one is going to flame, too! » Ily all but cackles, lightning flashing wildly while Cita looks a little green around the gills.

"Really?" Like a kid at Christmas (if Pern had Christmas) the glee and delight that radiates from her nothing short of electric. Of course, Tanit doesn't know that the dial doesn't go up to ten, but that doesn't stop her from taking up the tank and nozzle as Cita helpfully, (or unhelpfully) starts showing her the important things like the safety, and the nozzle and the things that adjust and twist and make the flame go BOOM. It is all very technical. And as the gold's barreling into Cita, the dolphineer laughs. "Ok Cita, so this switch, and the nozzle here and -" FWHOOOM Someone forgot to aim at the target, instead a rather large burst of flame is headed to the very flammable wooden barracks. "SHIT CITA MAKE IT STOP." because panic and shouting is helpful!

With a burst of flame, Tanit sets the barracks on fire!

Radiating excitement and the remnants of pride in her Winningest Rider, Ily is content to preen at Cita's head; affectionately patting the top of her head hard enough to send her reeling a little as she tries to explain. Which might actually explained the, uh, missed section on 'aiming' and 'never put your finger on the trigger unless you're going to shoot'. Or maybe Cita ought to have lassoed Ryn back in. Either way, she makes a noise like a startled donkey when the flamethrower sends flames splashing joyously onto the exceedingly-flammable barracks, and for a long moment, stares, eyes wide. "SHIT!" She echoes, because it seems like the thing to do, but Ily is on the case. With a thought, the weyrling is lifting up off the ground enough to make a quick hop over, sweeping her massive wings in several sharp bursts of wind too disruptive for the baby fire to actually catch with. It smolders a little, and the gold — laughs. Loud, ringing peals of laughter, sending bursts of thunder throughout the Weyr. « That was a good first try! Next time, aim not for there. » She suggests, cheeky, while Cita just kind of. Digests. What just happened. Mouth agape, still. "Oh, no."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Sea-green eyes wide in absolute shock as she watches the wood of the barracks change color, a few of the shutter panels charring beyond recognition. Thank goodness for Ily, because the young gold prevents things from becoming a total disaster. Tanit does her best carp impersonation looking at Cita, mouth opening and closing repeatedly without sound. "Right, the not there" she manages after a minute horrified. One of the storm shutters creeks and groans, falling off the hinge with a loud crack. "I can fix that. We can fix that right?" Tanit looks to Cita because surely the weyrling has the answer for this. You know, before R'hyn comes back and sees what his - ah - lesson, has wrought.

Ilyscaeth: somehow, for once, not a total disaster! Well. She winces a little when she steps onto the charred remnants of that shutter, and doesn't notice a wingtip resting on the wall in the smoldering part, but she put out the fire? « The not there. Specifically. Yes. Almost anywhere else, actually, that isn't alive. » Youthful delight wars with the budding dry humor she might one day grow into; she's not Old enough that she's Disappointed, yet, at least. Like Cita is in herself. The weyrling looks comically tragic, like she's just wrought something horrible, instead of allowing a teeny tiny — oh, boy, that crack is loud. Citayla groans. "UmmMMmm." The healer stalls, a little strained, clearly trying to arrange her expression into something reassuring. "We can fix it! Yeah. Um." Whether before or after somebody notices, she doesn't say. "It…needed paint anyways?" And did they REALLY need that shutter, honestly. No. No they did not.

So very helpful is Ilyscaeth, even if Tanit winces as the charred shutter crumbles under the gold's weight and the wing tip. Tanit swallows, looking at the smoking charred wood. "I can't decide… if this is worse or better than getting blamed for the exploding squid." Tanit murmurs, "I mean… this is actually my fault." And Then H'yu is pointing and people are giving shocked and horrified looks. "Yeah, paint. " Tanit echoes her voice cracking a little. "Maybe we could wallpaper it, and it wouldn't …" Keep falling apart? Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more storms anytime soon. "Cita?"

Ilyscaeth is the most helpful, thoughtfully scooping sand over the remnants of the shutter. It can just…it'll be fine under there. The gold rumbles amusement for their predicament, still flashing gleeful sea life at anybody around. Cita is not so amused; more stricken, horrified. "The. Well." She tries, and fails to come up with anything particularly comforting, beyond: "It's not just your fault. I didn't, um. Tell you that." Beat. Slow, slow smile, and it figures that R'hyn's wandered off, and the person she's borrowing that grin from isn't here either. "It's R'hyn's fault for not teaching you, too." She adds, more sure of herself now. Right. That's a good plan. "It'll be fine. Wallpaper, well," The healer squints at the wall. "I don't know if they make it waterproof. It'll be fine. Ryn's gonna be in trouble." She trails that, probably mainly to garner amusement, but the weyrling goldrider does look at least a little bit meanly excited. Hey, he's the dumbass that left her in charge of the fire-training. "Ummmmm. We should…get some water, maybe." Possibly?

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