Bleepity Bobbity Moo

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Corrals
Enclosed by a wooden fence on one side and the steep walls of the weyr on the other is a couple acres of grass that holds the Weyr's herdbeasts and wherry flock. While this dragon feeding area is smaller than most of the Weyrs on Pern, there is still enough room for a large dragon to swoop down and grab his dinner with relative ease.

It's early evening, that special time when the setting sun softens the hard edges of the bowl with waning peachy-pink light. The temperature is just beginning to ease, a cool breeze coming in over the ocean, streaks of clouds painted with a soft golden glow. It'd be a lovely night to sit on the rooftop patio and enjoy the sunset, or perhaps find a quiet stretch of beach to curl up on, or to visit the corrals to enjoy a swearing-laden little attempted bloodbath courtesy of a one Xermiltoth. Wait, what? « GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE— » Well, somebody has been all up in his rider's head lately, because there's a very fluent, very descriptive, very LOUD series of swears that accompanies a failed attempt at snagging a herdbeast, the young dragon's mind all heat and electrified diamonds as it shatters around the general vicinity, the bronze totally forgetting himself in the heat of the moment. R'hyn is leaning his elbows on the fencing of the corral, watching his lifemate come around for a second go with the sort of expression one only wears when they've sucked on a lemon, and an unripened one to boot. "Slow down. Take your time. Stalk your prey." « BUT IT'S SO EXCITING! » Fingers pinch his nose with a heavy sigh. Quick, somebody bring a disturbance before the guy pops a vein!

If Heryn looks like he's been gnawing on unripened lemons, Citayzleat looks like she's been chugging every single mug of klah in the weyr, strung-out and twitchy. Her hair is only half-up, and she's blinking owlishly up at the sky, like she can't fathom why the sun is there, or — almost-not. The healer doesn't have a book under her arm, for once, but she still has her elbow crooked out like she thinks she does, blinking in the general direction of the ledges above. They're cursing, violently and creatively. Maybe she really shouldn't have taken that fourth shift. Except. Oh. Look. That's Xermiltoth, over there. So much more reasonable. Cita girds up her sanity and takes a meandering path over towards the corral's fence, leaning wearily on it for a long moment. "He's much better at swearing than hunting." The healer observes after several beats, eyebrows creeping slowly up towards the jumbled mess of her hair. Is that awe? Well, maybe. It's pretty awe-inspiring, Xermi managing to move and curse so very fluently at the same time. "Did he get those from you?" It's a pertinent question, asked even as Cita lifts a hand in a slightly jerky wave to the dragon. "You've got it, Xermiltoth!" Yeah, no. She looks pretty sure those herdbeasts will live to moove another day.

"Xermiltoth, honestly. They are not going to trip and fall into your mouth, you actually have to put thought into this." And yet, dash goes the Xermiltoth, splitting the herd with another impressive crackle of gold-wrapped obscenities. The look R'hyn shoots Citayzleat is on beyond longsuffering, mental exhaustion showing vividly on his features before finally blue-greys fasten on her and… well… No, there's no question, Cita wins this crazy-off. The weyrling looks her over with concern that borders on awe before her words catch up to him and he snorts hard. "He sure is. I don't understand it. He works so hard at everything else. I'd think he was just playing with his food if he didn't get so damn mad everytime," he replies, still giving her a wary look before going a little sheepish for the origins of the tangle of frankly hideous things the bronze is bandying about. "Uh. He uh. He might have." A gusty sigh, and a fluff of floppy hair. "I tried real hard to keep it from him, but it's like keeping a stash of candy hidden from a sibling: somehow they always find it." And find it, Xermi most definitely has. "Anyways, what in Faranth's name has happened to you?" He gestures to all of her before eyes catch on the space where a book should be, lips quirking up crookedly. "Did you forget something?," he asks, finger twirling in a triangular shape to indicate the area beneath her arm.

Cita definitely doesn't snicker under her breath, and certainly not at poor Xermi, watching the dragon go bolting through the herd yelling a blue steak at the 'beasts. Poor R'hyn's longsuffering look gets a crooked grin from the healer, not much more than a tired twitch of her lips, but there all the same. That look-over, though, morphs it right quick into narrowed eyes and a stubborn cant of her jaw, back straightening. She's got this. "Well," Words come slow, a little clipped on the end. "Maybe it's a little bit of both." Cita doesn't actually sounds like she believes that answer, though, wincing at that round of sparkling invectives. Then again, what does she know? Maybe it's a happy rage. It looks like the healer might try for a moment to not laugh at poor Heryn's chagrin, but it doesn't stick, even pressing her lips together. Cita snickers once, twice — then she's giggling weakly. "They certainly do. Most of them don't have a direct line to your subconscious though. Is that what it sounds like, Heryn? Shells man, I underestimated your range." Eyes bright, the apprentice grins, only a little crooked around the edges. No, this is definitely amusing. The last gets the stubborn look back in place, though, her face scrunching up in defiance. "Gonna make Journeyman before turn's end if it kills me. Oh." Slowly, s l o w l y, Cita lowers her arm, wincing. "You, be quiet. What happened to you, huh?" Alright, Captain Obvious.

Ah, R'hyn - the rightful Fear of the Cita has been put into him, and that puffed-up posture has him backing right down, easily cowed by the mere promise of her temper. Hands come up in a gesture of peace before he nods, as agreeable as he's ever been. "Maybe. Maybe it is." And honestly the bronze is having fun, despite it all - there's not nearly enough lightning darting between diamonds, nary enough fizzles for him to be truly mad. Just frustrated as he finally tires, coming to a stop to eye the herdbeasts as he pants. « PISS, » the bronze says because he can, dropping on his butt to think, finally. While he works things out, R'hyn flicks a grin at Cita, not at all put off by her giggles. "Oh, ha-ha," the man drawls. "It ain't like that. I mean… I lived with seacrafters from the age of twelve so I came by it honest. But I swear it was just one word that slipped, and— You know how people play word association games, where they say literally the next thing that comes to mind?" Hands gesticulate emphatically towards Xermiltoth. And then there's defiance, and Ryn doesn't argue. Doesn't dare. Instead he chuckles quietly, surveying her with understanding this time as he says, "Well, if anyone could do it, it would be you. Still, you look like a stiff breeze might well knock you over. Are you at least eating? Sleeping?" Lookit him, going all Cita on Cita's ass. "Me? I don't know what you're talking about. I look great." He really doesn't - Cita isn't the only one looking baggy-eyed and tired, but he's happy, too, so there's that. "At least let me fix your hair? I can do a mean braid. It'll keep all the…" Another vague, wincey gesture. "… out of your… face." Smooth recovery.

The peaceful hand-raising gets slightly narrowed eyes from Citayzleat, but she huffs, clearly at least amused by the placating gesture. The amusement lifts into an outright grin when the poor bronze comes to a gallumphing stop, grumping loudly. "Call in reinforcements, Xermiltoth. You know you can work together with a clutchmate, don't you?" Cita questions, lifting eyebrows pointedly. Because y'know, things that actually make sense just may not have occurred to the dragon. Heryn's grin gets a matching one from the healer, still a little sketchy around the edges. She's definitely not laughing at him, but his explaining clearly amuses her at least a bit. "Seacrafters. Well, that will certainly give you a repertoire, hm?" Huff. "Oh, that one! Where you get in trouble because you're thinking about severed arteries and the last person said 'babies'." For Faranth's sake. Honestly, Cita. Still, she's eyeing Xermi with a little more understanding now, anyways, shaking her head. The understanding look has the apprentice looking away, chin ducking a little before she's back, shrugging. "Thanks. Eating? Ah. Yes." She certainly sounds sure of that, and not at all annoyed by the Cita-ing of herself, look at her. "Took a few extra shifts because we had a surgery and I wanted in." Stubborn frowning momentarily, but then the healer's face works up into another grin, eyes crinkling around the edge. She may or may not linger on the bags a little, but that's an actual smile, at least. "You look better, maybe." Cita muses quietly. "Hmm. Still need more sleep, though. Xermiltoth not sleeping all night yet?" Alright, kettle. The stammering and totally-smooth recovering gets a definitely-not-a-grin, but wide-eyed amusement is more difficult to hide. "Where'd you pick up braiding?" Is the only agreement, but she does tip her head back a little, still trying not to laugh.

Xermiltoth considers that. He does. There's a ponderous ray of sunshine that fixes itself on Cita, diamonds flickering like sunspots until: « THANK YOU, CITAYZLEAT, BUT I MAY NOT ALWAYS HAVE COMPANY. THIS IS SOMETHING MUST LEARN TO DO ALONE. » He just might be taking the wrong approach. Maybe if he edges towards them slowly… Shuffle. Shuffle. Innocent look in a different direction when they notice. Shuffle. R'hyn's eyes roll for the woman's efforts. "You tried," he says consolingly, as though he KNOWS MAN, he knows, before he matches her shifty grin. "It will, won't it? Good people, overall, but man, could they spin you a clever phrase." Clever. Disgusting. Just like the analogy Cita jumps to, the phrase startling a sharp bark of laughter out of the weyrling. "Hah! Ah. Yes. That, uh… that would be the one," he says with a sort of fond 'only you, Cita' headshake. The sharpness leaks out of the mirth, but the overall amusement never fades, the bronzeling side-stepping so he can undo the mess she calls a hairdo and attempt to set it to something that might resemble hair, fingers setting to untangling it gently. "Good, and good," he says to her answers, seeming placated when she reveals it was a surgery she wanted in on. "Was it successful?" Her actual smile sets him back to being shifty, but it's a pleasant shifty, the sort that comes with overly-amused pressings of lips and dimples, for Faranth's sake as he nods. "I am." Better, he means. "And no. He likes the late talks, even if he knows they sometimes keep me up after. I wander, sometimes." The sentence trails off, as though his thoughts are wandering now, fingers gently pulling apart a particularly stubborn knot before her question brings him back. "Foster sibs. A couple of them were girls. They seem insistent that I learned; never much understood why." Shrug. "But I still remember how." And that's what counts, at least. "Lean your head the whole way back, yeah? It'll be more comfortable." He's tall, but perhaps not so tall that it'll be comfortable any other way as he takes up strands of hair from near her forehead and carefully sets about weaving an imperfect but certainly passable french braid.

Cita, in the spotlight! And with Xermiltoth actually considering her for-once great idea. She even manages not to laugh when it's dismissed, but her nose does twitch a little. "Fair enough, Xermiltoth." The healer agrees solemnly, watching the bronze shuffle so-subtly towards the herdbeasts. She flashes Heryn a quick grin over-shoulder, then presses her lips back into a firm line. "Ah well. Hmmm," The debate of clever vs disgusting seems to be one that occurs to the healer as well, as she lifts one eyebrow up at nobody in particular, huffing under her breath. "They certainly can. Chap-assed dolphin? Do they even…" Cita trails off, distracted by the weyrling's amusement at her predicament. She doesn't deign to respond here, sniffing delicately, but her eyes are still amused-crinkly so it's definitely not for-real disdain. Anyhow, talking about the surgery is considerably more fun, and those dimples garner a wide-happy grin of her own. "Yes! It wasn't as good as it could have been, we don't have the proper equipment here, but it went well! The patient is alive, and will probably walk again, eventually." Because that's not ominous at all. Still, from the way Cita cheers up, it's a success. The shiftiness gets a quirk of the eyebrows, but she won't press — not here, at least. "Good." Sincerity here, followed by a nose-wrinkle of consternation. There's not a lot that can be done about stubborn-ass dragons, but. "I wonder if he'll keep those once you're in a wing. Shells, can you imagine!" Wince. Yeah, that's not a real nice thought. Not particularly tender-headed, Cita manages not to grin at the gentle treatment, leaning her head back further obediently. "Well, it comes in handy, doesn't it? Guess they can be good for some things." Snort. "I don't know when it got like this. Yours'll be long enough to braid soon, hmm? Could put it up in a couple runner 'tails now. It would look lovely." This is how she shows gratefulness, obviously. It's…legit. Really. Absolutely.

There is, at least, an affectionate spill of diamonds in the corner of vision, but he's trying so hard to be quiet now that it's almost adorable. Sneak sneak. Shuffle shuffle. Butt-wriggle. R'hyn, meanwhile, chuckles for the face Citayzleat makes, the noise rolling on for mention of chap-assed dolphins. "And shit-faced, bodice-ripping, skirt-crusting, ass-f—" But whatever he was about to continue with gets interrupted by a screeched, « I HAVE YOU NOW, YOU — » Bleepitty, bleepitty-bleeps! Except all he really has is a stampede, one the young bronze turns and flees from, using newfound flying talents to hop-skip-flap over a part of the herd. R'hyn can only stare a moment, fingers still woven in Cita's hair before he sighs long and low with a, "Is it too late to return him and ask for another, do you think?" He doesn't mean it though. Not at all. For every questionable thing about the dragonet, there are ten impressive things to take its place, even if the bad might attempt to outweigh the good sometimes. Cough. "We don't? I thought all weyrs came standard with set equipment," Heryn muses as he finally starts up again, carefully pulling bits of hair into the braid. A beat, another stilling, then: "Walk again eventually? Shells, Cita, what happened?" Okay, maybe it was a little ominous. As for late night meetings of Xermiltoth's mind, "I hope not. That would swiftly become a pain in the ass. Mostly, though, I think it's just become routine because otherwise we waken people when we get excited. It's getting better, but I don't think he'll ever be soft-spoken." Smirk. "I'm sure you have more important things to worry about than your hair," he rationalizes, "so I'm sure you can be forgiven. And ugh, it is getting long, isn't it? I need to cut it back down," he says, though there is a huff of laughter for the idea of pulling it back. "Lovely. That's a word for it, I suppose," he drawls with a twinkle in his eye, flicking her a wink before fingers gently press at the back of her skull to tip her head forwards as he continues.

It's definitely adorable, if Cita's face has anything to say. The healer tries to keep a straight face, but just fails miserably, eyes scrunching mostly-closed in mirth. R'hyn's response doesn't actually help, either; the healer full-out snickers for that — then startles violently when Xermi sets back to work. She really should be used to all this by now, shouldn't she? "That, too. Run, Xermiltoth! They're the size of one of your feet!" Cita calls, helpfully. Real helpful, is this one, rolling her eyes up in a ridiculous attempt to grin at Heryn from this angle. Not going to happen, but probably it seems like a great idea to somebody running mostly on klah. "Probably. Look at him. He's all dirty and everything." Like, you know, he's been running in a herd of 'beasts all evening. The healer does grin out at Xermi, though, lifting her hand in an encouraging kind of thumbs-up. He's totally going to catch one of those damn bodice-ripping herdbeasts. The amusement fades into a very Xermi kind of squaring of her shoulders, and Cita nearly jerks out of the braiding-stance — only pausing at the very last moment and making a vaguely mutinous face. "The equipment here is ages behind the 'Hall's. It's ridiculous! I'm not sure any major surgery could even be performed here, and transporting serious trauma patients dragonback — no." Feathers thoroughly ruffled, Cita sulks, but it only takes her a moment to breathe a little. Good save on the distraction, there. "Oh. Rider tore a few tendons taking a fall off their dragon." She shrugs just enough that it won't disrupt anything. Like that's not potentially terrible for the poor rider, Cita considers the fleeing bronze with a slightly less ruffled look. "Swiftly. Ha! Heryn, if it's not yet, it never will be. Ah," What's a tactful way to say that Xermiltoth waking people up doesn't surprise her at all? No, there isn't one. "No, I can't see him whispering." She laughs instead, sympathetic. "He's a good dragon, though. You two are well-suited. If he ever lets you sleep, I can only imagine what you'll do!" The apprentice doesn't shake her head, but a shoulder twitches. Her hair is definitely not as important as stealing random mugs of klah from unsuspecting people. Tipping her head forward, Cita snorts indelicately. "Sure is. Weyrlingmaster in the 'reaches would make you shave it all off, I hear told." RUDE, Cita. Mention not the blasphemy. "I don't guess they do that here."

To be fair, Cita doesn't have to live with the creature, and so R'hyn smiles sympathetically for her startlement, though he barely offers more than an eyetic for the whole situation at this point. Just another day in the life. « IT IS LESS THEIR SIZE AND MORE THEIR NUMBERS, » Xermiltoth screeches, Gulliver-style thoughts in his mind as, finally, he gives up the ghost and throws himself over the fence. Nope, he's done. "This is my life," the weyrling sighs when she mentions him being dirty, Xermiltoth looking a little affronted by the notion himself as he plops down to lick some of the worst away. It's a very Sibila-like action, one that earns a roll of blue-grey eyes and a huff. Ridiculous dragon. He's happily distracted by infirmary talk, brows knitting with concern. "Shells, really? That… sounds… inadvisable. Has anyone applied to the Healer Hall to fix it?" The frown persists, deepens perhaps with a wrinkle of his nose for the described surgery, likely not having considered that to be a future issue. Great. "Yeah. No. He's done it… exactly twice," the bronzeling confides, eyes scrunching up. "Mostly he just shuts up and doesn't talk at all. It's sad, that that's easier." A twinkly look gets tossed over at Xermi, who doesn't reply but instead booms a wave of sunny light in their direction. Take that! R'hyn cackles quietly through a wince and a nod. "We are. He's an excellent dragon. I guess I'll keep him after all." He falls quiet for a moment, focusing on finishing off the braid before retying it with her previous tie, reaching back up to carefully tuck in as many curly flyaways as possible. "Yeah. They might still do, once we have to get fitted for helmets, but I'm sure as shells hoping not. I like my hair," Ryn sulks. Blasphemy indeed! "I guess we'll have to see. Anyways, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, and all Xerm did out there was work up a damn appetite. If you'd like, we can filch something from the kitchens and get him set up in the yard?," he invites with a sideways dip of his head towards the caverns, already maybe kinda sorta edging that way.

Cita puts on her mom-face to answer Xermiltoth, perfectly straight and sincere. "There are a lot of them, buddy." The healer nods, eyebrows creased, lips pursed out a little in a sympathetic pout. Darn those raging herdbeasts in their huge-sharding herds. Terrifying. "Oh, it's not so bad." Cita manages, heroically, not to grin at that very feline preening. It lasts all of a few seconds before she for-real doesn't have to push it down; scowling thunderously, the apprentice glares into space. "I've sent letters. They haven't responded." That look suggests that Cita is soon going to be climbing all the way up anybody getting in her way, eyebrows furrowed angrily. "They will." DUN DUN DUN. Ominous still. Nice. Thankfully, the weyrling has the sense to distract her, and Cita's eyes widen a little at the revelation that Xermiltoth actually can turn down the volume. "Huh. I wouldn't have thought he could." She admits, after a moment, sounding impressed. Maybe there's hope for poor Heryn's brains, anyways. That sunny booming and R'hyn's amusement get a laugh out of the healer, who remembers last moment that she can't roll her head with her eyes and kind of twitches instead. "Just coming up with things to say later." Cita consoles unhelpfully, reaching up to pat at her hair and then turn, leveling an impressed look at the weyrling. "That's better, shells. Ah," And she just can't bring herself to pick at the poor guy further about cutting his hair off. She just can't. "Yours is fine enough that it shouldn't block the helmet. Plus, it's not like you're going to keep it shaved, right?" She can sometimes be helpful. Or well, it might be, if she didn't sound so unsure. Cita considers the hungry idea for a long moment, one eye narrowed, before eventually ceding defeat with a twitch of her head and sideways smile. "I should eat." SIGH. Still: "Good idea. I bet they're cooking dinner right now. Hey, Healer's authority. My patient needs food right. Now." Eyes squinting with slightly wired mischief, Cita nudges the sneaky-sneaking Heryn further on the way. Probably best to hurry before poor Xermi wastes away of a lack of food.

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