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26-04-01: Some things don't go away
Lydiere may have been trying to ignore what Llysereth's colour means, but Weyrleader R'yn's visit means she can't do so forever.
*THWACK* is the first sounds you hear from M'kan as he seems enthusiastically chopping away at the thick slab of .. wherry. Eyeing the pieces, he CHOPS again and moves his fingers swiftly away from the knife's edge.. sharp one anyhow. Looking up, he murmurs, "I know, I saw my fingers and where the knife was." Obviously Xaeloth was worried his lifemate would cut off his own fingers!
... As if...
Lydiere emerges from Llysereth's couch quietly, sans the young gold for once--hands rubbing at eyes as if indicating she's recently awake from a nap. "M'kan, others," she greets, holding back a yawn from between her lips as she rubs off her shirt with two slightly oily hands.
V'rence is an other! Yay! An other who has, quite recently, finished feeding Lledrith, and is /almost/ done with the oiling. "Hello," he pipes up, before pushing at one of Lledrith's legs, "Up." says he, up it goes, and V'rence begins oiling the bottom of a foot.
"V'rence," adds Lyddie--yes, he gets to be even more than an other! The weyrling rubs at her eyes again, muttering something beneath her breath as she moves to serve herself food--juice, then a meatroll. A glance is given towards her couch, but Llysereth appears to be fast asleep. For the moment.
V'rence gleams with pride--or oil spatters, take your pick--at the status promotion. The oiling continues, but he does note, "Be careful with the meatrolls. I'm sure I saw someone drop one." Then he moves to the next foot, and starts working oil into the talons. "So, check for dirt, and stuff." In case she couldn't figure that out.
The sound of cutting meat can still be heard but Mik stops and peers. "Oh hey, Lyd." He contemplates and then THWACK! sounds off again. He mms under his breath and throws the hacked pieces, the blood dripping from their severed ends. With a pensive glance to the other sides of wherry, he gets at it, the fresh juices splattering just at a bare minimum. "One of the older 'lings dropped the last platter." He absently noted. "In Xaeloth's muck..."
"Ew," notes Lyddie with disgust, dropping the meatroll in front of her with a wrinkle of her nose. "Now I'm really grossed out," she adds, somewhat gruff in her annoyance. Washing her mouth out with a swallow of juice, the weyrling turns, watching M'kan and V'rence. "You could've told me *earlier*."
V'rence says "You didn't take a bite yet, did you?" He looks back up, curious, "So it's early enough." With a nod, it's back to the oiling. A nudge from Lledrith moves him back to a particular spot on his shoulder. "Okay, okay, I'm /getting/ it!"
"Oh sorry, I didn't think I was not thinking ..." Mik looks relatively sheepish and then *THWACK* goes his knife once more, pausing to wipe the juices from his face. "Gah." and onwards. Smack, whack.. THUMP. Okay, that's enough. With the remainder, he offers said knife to the younger, if paler girl. "Don't worry, Leovigilda, it's not that bad." *What a mouthful for a name* ,"..just bite sizes." He leaves the girl to the chore and wipes his hand, then patting her back reassuringly. Moving back to his lifemate, he stops and ehs. "She did, V'rence.."
Lydiere hacks up ground-up meatroll onto a piece of rag left out--or was that someone's pair of knickers? "I did." Too late. Still spluttering, she wipes her mouth off, indubiously less than cheerful as another glance is given towards Llysereth's couch--the gold emerging with the lethargic, almost clumsy walk of one newly awake; tail flicking about her.
Llysereth leaves Lyddie and Llysereth's couch.
R'yn heads northwest, to the weyrling's area and barracks.
[Dragon/ISW: Ista Weyr - Candidate/Weyrling Barracks] Gold Llysereth brushes silvery tendrils across the barracks, noting, << It is better awake, than asleep. >> With resonant innocence, she adds, << It is good. >> Easily pleased, this one.
Poor person, their.. knickers are meatroll-y now. A blink from M'kan and then Xaeloth rumbles -- nuzzling along the lad's side and pokes that muzzle into /his/ face. Ack. Barely stumbling, he then rights himself up and rubs the eyeridge smoothly afore mumbling. "You're getting big, I can only hold up to your nuzzling before you throw me flat." At that, the brown croons throatily and greets said sister gold with a somewhat rich, throaty rumble.
V'rence wrinkles his nose, "Oh, well, that is gross." in quite the statement of the obvious. Then, with a nod, he decides he's finished the oiling. Hands are swiped absently against pants, as Lledrith rumbles a deep greeting to the awakening gold.
Lydiere, still wiping her mouth, strides towards Llysereth, who attempts to make a similar movement towards Lyddie. The result is almost inevitable: Llys, all limbs as she often appears to be, gets tangled, and Lyddie only just manages to stay out of the way, her chewed meatroll-covered knickers flying into the air. "Llysereth!" Yes, the knickers are gross.
[Dragon/ISW: Ista Weyr - Candidate/Weyrling Barracks] Brown Xaeloth allows for warm sweeps of earthy tones to tenderly drift about every dragon here, <
R'yn is whistling something cheerful as he enters the barracks - only those hailing from Xanadu will know how truly dirty the lyrics to that song are - but he stops short at the sight of the acrobatics going on before his startled eyes. A pause, a step backwards, and he takes stock. One hand coming up to push white-blond locks back from his eyes, he announces his presence with a chuckle, his easy baritone ringing out. "Dare I ask?"
[Dragon/ISW: Ista Weyr - Candidate/Weyrling Barracks] Bronze Lledrith projects << Awake, asleep, we are still /here/. >> His response in darker shades of red. << There is not so much to be done in here. >> And, in a moment of confusion, << Why would any rider be hurt? >>
[Dragon/ISW: Ista Weyr - Candidate/Weyrling Barracks] Gold Llysereth swirls dainty moonlight through the barracks, noting, << Yes, we know that, Xaeloth. Such a nice feeling. >> She nudges her satin note towards Lledrith, adding, << I know--to be free would be a wonderful thing! >> She projects an image of the sea, open and inviting--no doubt sourced from Lyddie. << Soon, we will go. >>
Lydiere stops short, slowly turning around with the movement of one hand ensuring her hair falls back from her face as she catches a glimpse of R'yn--hand rapidly moving to a salute. "Weyrleader!" Oops. Llysereth nudges up towards her rider, peering about at the weyrleader--as much as she can peer, her size being what it is--before the weyrling attempts to, without great notice, gain another grasp upon the pair of knickers formerly in her grasp. Smile, and nod.
V'rence edges away from the area occupied by the knickers. Whether he was in danger of being hit or not, there's no point in taking chances. But then, someone Important enters, and Vear has to whirl and snap off as even a salute as he can manage. Still not perfect, but improved.
Weyr --- what? But then M'kan has to turn fully around to ... oh. Weyrleader. A smart salute and he offers a quick one, he then bobs his head once to ... whathisname and murmurs, "Weyrleader, sir." before returning to his .. duties. Which is.. feed that brown of his...
R'yn's hand comes up quickly to wave off salutes, although his own casual version is offered in return. "Please, don't do that. I'm sure your hands are full enough..." There's an unmistakeable pause, and quicksilver eyes flicker briefly to Lydiere's personal handful, then flicker away, settling more safely upon the wall to the right of her. "What with your lifemates eating every second moment, and all. How're you all doing?"
Lydiere, rather hastily, discards of the knickers--never hers, honestly--with their rather masticated contents. "Thank you, sir," she notes, brusquely, retreating towards Llysereth, who waits without impatience as Lyddie fetches oil for her hide. "Eating, or requiring oiling, yes," she agrees, more to herself than anything, as she hastily makes to use the oil-paddle upon Llysereth's forelimbs. "Fine. We're--just fine." As long as they don't eat the meatrolls.
"Besides chop, hack...oil.. feed.." M'kan has to really seriously ponder that question, "More than estatic." He'll have to admit, looking upon his dragon and smiling softly to the deeply crooning Xaeloth. He admits, murmuring, "Xae's doing rather well.. more like a father than lifemate -- if you ask me.." The brown rumbles - but the guidance is needed here.
V'rence says "'Mokay," nodding a little. "Well, except for when Lloronth decides to go exploring." And ends up bumping into/knocking over half the stuff in the room--But Vear doesn't mention /that/. "And he wants to go out and... I don't know. He just wants to go out."
M'kan's quiet as he sits on his couch, but Xaeloth scoots in and one by one, they fall into.. deep /deep/ slumber. What gives? Who knows.
R'yn grins, stepping forward into the barracks, and weaving his way around oil pots and slumbering occupants. "I know how that feels" - and this is to V'rence. "Zip was poking his head out through the barracks entrance well before we were allowed our freedom. Still a wanderer, when he gets to." And a slight grimace indicates that duty prevents that, much of the time. His gaze shifts, to fall upon the young queen, visibly measuring her up. "How's her skin?"
"Fine." Is that Lyddie sounding almost defensive about her lifemate? Said lifemate nudges her head slightly towards R'yn, politely warbling with a soft, moderated soprano. "Llys would like to get out, too," she adds, rapidly, as paddle returns to oil pot, and then back to the queen, who croons softly beneath the ministrations of her weyrling.
R'yn nods, settling himself beside the pair, and pulling off the riding jacket that announces he's been somewhere or other. "When has S'va said you're allowed out? Got a date, yet?" There's a sympathetic grimace for their plight, but R'yn's too weyrbred to even contemplate announcing such a privelige without the weyrlingmaster's word.
Lydiere defiantly retains eye contact upon Llysereth rather than R'yn, working with steady productivity in covering the young gold with sticky oil. "Not as yet, no," she admits, head shaking, one hand released to pull her hair away from her face--with rather sticky results. "With any luck, it'll be soon," she adds, altogether without impatience, and with a certain acceptance. Llysereth attempts to nudge Lyddie's face upwards--but that wouldn't be diligent, and Lyddie maintains it downwards, focused upon her task. "It will be nice, to be--outdoors, properly, again."
R'yn nods, gaze cast about in search of another paddle. "Can I help you? You'll always have more to oil than your clutchmates." One is eyed, but he awaits her ascent. "Do you miss your ship?" His voice is soft, with that query, and he eyes her quietly through soft locks of hair that have insistently tumbled down once more.
Lydiere hesitates visibly--is that a relieved expression upon her face? "Are you allowed to help?" she asks, raising her eyes cautiously. "Because if you are, I'm certainly not going to stand in your way, and nor, I think, will Llys." Llysereth outstretches her tail with a dainty flick, whirling eyes of blue-green indicating no refusal on her part. More softly, as she delves down to smooth oil upon the young gold's flanks, "Yes, I do. It's too enclosed in here; I think Llys and I agree on at least that much."
R'yn laughs softly, taking up a paddle, and setting to work with the ease of long experience. "Absolutely no rule at all, and it's important we get to know each other as well as possible, at that. A weyr's junior weyrwomen are one of it smost important assets." Oil is worked over the queen's hide slowly, time taken over the task as he speaks. "It's hard, trying to turn your old life and your new life into one. You've a child, and a ship, shipmates and a craft to try and integrate. Not easy. You must let me know if I can help, or answer any questions."
Lydiere wrinkles her nose at bare mention of 'junior weyrwoman', admitting, "Never the course I expected my navigation to lead me on." Llysereth remains silent, perhaps prudently, although her head rests upon her forelimbs to gaze up towards Lyddie, eyes whirling rapidly. "So you consider oiling my lifemate, and conversing with me just another part of your job? Thanks." Perhaps a touch of amusement rests there, before more seriousness. "No, not easy. I'll--do that, if I need to."
R'yn's gaze rises for a moment, and the oiling stops as he examines her in silence for a moment. "No, not part of my job. Not at all. Part of being interested in getting to know someone I'll work closely with, part of concern for someone who I think will find it a challenge to leave everything behind. Leaving an entire ship, and a child behind is quite different from being plucked from working as a drudge somewhere, or being a holder's daughter, or anything else." Oiling resumes, and his gaze drops back to his work, peering in at a patch of dry skin. "I'd rather be at least your friend, and certainly not just your colleague."
Lydiere, politely, notes, "Thank you, then--I wanted to be sure." She carefully rubs her oil into Llysereth's hide, the young dragon near falling asleep under the soothing movement. "Your concern is, perhaps not appreciated, but certainly accepted. I'm not so brittle that I'll find it too hard, I should imagine." Or so she'd like to think. She raises her eyes, regarding you for a moment. "You mean, rather than be my sparring partner, like the level you and the Weyrwoman appear to communicate upon?"
R'yn considers this question for perhaps longer than might seem necessary, beofre his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Ly and I communicate much better than it might seem. We've been friends since we were very young children. It all means something, to us. She's just angry - unsure, because what's happened now changes things in a way she didn't expect, and isn't sure she wants." And that's about as philosophical as R'yn ever gets. "They let me make friends with you, no matter what else I mustn't do." And there's a scowl for restrictions the weyr must impose.
Lydiere raises her left eyebrow with some hesitation, indicating disbelief for a brief moment. "Ah," she finally notes, smoothing her paddle along Llysereth, "I suppose--I suppose I can understand, sort of." Meaning, not really, but she'll try all the same. As soon as the eyebrow lowers, it raises again--"And what is it that you musn't do, dare I enquire?"
This is not promising. Any moment now R'yn's going to have two hostile weyrwomen on his hands, rather than just one. He pauses, attention on his oiling for a moment, pulling over someone else's vat of oil so he can avoid leaning for Lydiere's. "I think best not to. I'll get myself in more trouble than I already have." He sounds slightly rueful, but his voice is soft. The weyrleader is tired.
"Oh?" It must be a female thing, being able to put far more meaning into that one word than is really necessary--Lyddie certainly does it will. "Avoiding trouble, now there's a skill that is perhaps good to learn." Boring though it is. A glance is made towards Llysereth -- fast asleep, or close to it -- and Lydiere adds, "I think I'd best gather her back to her couch sooner rather than later, so you'll probably have to excuse us, for the moment." Bed time for sleepy young dragons--and probably their weyrlings, too.