Weyrling Training Grounds

Here, a wide and spacious field, devoid of all but more of the glare of ubiquitous, fine white sand of Igen: not even a blade of grass dares lift its head against centuries of clumsy draconic antics. To one side, ever-present firestone bins are set, kept supplied by many a hand, while agenothree tanks line the curving angle just outside the barracks, primed and ready for use. Very often, a glimpse of classes in session or dragonets at play may be caught under the open sky under the watchful eye of diligent Weyrlingmasters and older dragons.

There is a certain rhythym to the early days of weyrlinghood. Eat, sleep, play. REPEAT. It's almost seasonal, except for the fact it repeats in hours rather than months. At this particular hour, on this particular afternoon, the season has spun to 'Eat'. With eyes whirling red-hunger in his solemn grumpy old man face Qiyarth explores the subtle differences the latest sandstorm has wrought, turning back to face his bonded with commentary… or entreaty as M'kai rather professionally dresses down the carcass provided. "Hold your runners!" M'kai gives a little grumpy face of his own. They are an oddly self-contained pair… for the most part, right from the beginning, becoming more adept as the days pass. Not that they're perfect at it yet. « You should probably consider cutting the meat while I am sleeping. That way I won't have to wait for your slow ass. » Irritation and humor battle it out in that cultured aside.

Self-contained is a good way to describe Khu and Ixzhulqvoth, too; in many ways, the two are more connected than most, with limited contact with other weyrlings. Ixzhul is not the most friendly of weyrlings, though he is evolving - and more quickly than it might seem. The monster of fog and ink has fully embraced the idea of moving, much to Khu's rapidly mounting dismay. After colliding with an assortment of furniture, walls, and couches inside, she's managed to steer the brown outside where he's not as likely to hurt himself (or others). He practically thunders outside, while Khu changes course to join the bronzerider at the cutting tables. While Ixzhulqvoth reaches inquisitive, cool tendrils to Qiyarth, the young woman wonders, "How are you faring, sha?"

M'kai continues to work that broad blade with competency which might surprise all the women he's awkwarded over previously. There is a beyond exhausted grin for Khu - with an ACTUAL FACE! "Good. Tired." But those many lambing seasons help him get through, even if the unrelenting warpcore thrum of Qiyarth's mind provides the kind of white noise that numbs thought and action. "Weird." He adds, whacking the latest skirt of meat rendered from the carcass into dragonet-sized chunks. "You?" He nods his head towards the monsterous brown, even as the gold-meshed void of Qiyarths regard takes on mist like properties of it's own. Shifting over slightly he nods towards another carcass. "Pull up a knife, he'll be hungry soon enough." And M'kai is glad of any distraction that prevents his bronze from repeating another HANGRY TANTRUM.

Yes, Khu-face is on perpetual display these days; Ixzhul has made absolutely certain of it. The brown's mind remains aloof and strange, shadowy figures shifting in the bright-gloom. And yet- yet, there is a spark of new curiosity at the gold-meshed void and the mist that forms in Qiyarth's mind. Ink spirals into a question, with a translation that reverberates just at the level of psychic audibility: « Fun? » It's a new word, apparently, and one that he doesn't fully understand. Also, no, he has not stopped moving in a straight line. Khu keeps an eye out on him, ready to start after him if he goes too far. "I am glad you are doing well enough, given the circumstances," she replies, a sardonic quirk to the corner of her mouth. "Weird is- yes. And tired." She starts in on the cutting as well, grabbing her own section of meat to work on. She's not so deft - herbs are one thing; meat is another - and there is a measure of respect for how deftly he handles his the meat. "He does not remember that he is hungry, often." Which means taking advantage of that time to prepare.

Qiyarth's mists are more a technological wonder than an eldritch horror, but he is attempting to assimilate and communicate his equal and total fascination with his brothers mind, without fear, for his mission is to boldly go where others dare tread…well except Beaumerath. « Fun is when…» The mists shift as the thought is reprogrammed, shifting into a maze where strange dragonets frolic and play. « Or… » The next scene is more nebulous, the baby imaginings of the hunt writ in that technological mist he is using to bridge the gaps between them. "What circumstances?" M'kai asks, his knife slowing for a moment. Forgive him, the ability to connect any dots not explicitly stated is really beyond him at this stage. "That I impressed? Or Impressed bronze?" Yeah, THAT is what he's struggling with, a quarter-life crisis named Qiyarth. "Don't regret it though." There is another grin, before he uses his knife to slide the chunks of meat into the awaiting bucket.

The desire to communicate is, at least, a mutual one. Assimilation and translation take different forms, however; the barrier yet remains strong, too young, too new, to fully trust others. The horrors that reside beyond the veil are unspeakable. Which means, given a seven or two, he'll be gleefully unleashing them on all and sundry. For now, however, he observes Qiyarth's interpretation and Ixzhulqvoth finally slows to a stumble and a near-stop. It's enough to let him shift course and trek to where his bronze brother is. « That. » The hunt is captured and replayed in the mists, hazy and outlined in ink. Reversed. Played again. "The lack of sleep and not knowing the difference between your belly or his," Khu replies, but her smile further pulls and she looks askance at M'kai. "But it appears that you are carrying a different burden, sha." It's an invitation to speak more, if he likes; she's taking her time with meat-cutting out of necessity. Another glance confirms that disaster is a little longer in coming. "I do not think he regrets it, either."

"It's… an adjustment." Particularly considering the way Maikah used to cuss out the dragonriders who ate from his prized herds. Now M'kai is one of those riders, no less able to stop his lifemate from snacking where he will. "We'll get there. They're still very young." That tired smile is indulgent as he turns his hands towards the carcass and his sight seeks the shiny pate of his Qiyarth. "But he's pretty quick to tell me when it is his belly…" Oh shit, he shouldn't have said/thought that, because Qiyarth turns red-whirling eyes towards the pair and the bucket only partially full. « LESS TALKING! MORE CUTTING! » The strident command blares on red-alert repeat. "Oi!" M'kai holds a finger up. « Brother I will be glad when I can do that for myself. » Forgetting the wordless mists, he speaks to Ixzhulqvoth in the manner he prefers, before offering a translation in mists and blood.

There's a soft laugh for that, barely shaped, but more of a proper laugh than she's historically managed. Khu dips her chin in a shallow nod, "They are. And they are still small. I will hope they are better-behaved when they are larger." Her head tips and then that mistake is made and she has to fight the urge to cover her mouth with a bloodied hand to shield another laugh. "He seems very impatient, sha. Here, you can take what I have, if that helps." The red whirl of Qiyarth's gaze and his blared command is enough to prompt a soft clomp of Ixzhulqvoth's jaws. Knowing no other way to make the loudness stop, he trundles over and lowers his head to try to headbutt the bronze's shoulder. « Loud, » says the brown whose voice is more of a too-loud yet too-quiet hum, speaking directly to nerves and bone. « Yes, » is mutual agreement on matters of hunting. His joy is a brief splatter of red-black, of blood and ink, coalescing into an abstract whorl that spreads. His translation is easy enough: audibly, the sound of teeth carving through flesh and bone.

Well D'uh Qiyarth is loud, a red alert isn't very effective communicated at a whisper is it? « Not loud, commanding! » The warpdrive humm of his taking on a grumpy irritated, irritating hitch, like an old man chewing on sour grapes. Perhaps not quite the same as the sound of teeth in flesh and bone, but gradually gaining a certain harmonic with the browns thought none-the-less. "Nah." M'kai declines the offer, even as he removes more flesh and chunks it up. "I'm pretty sure Vosji and them want us to do it for ourselves." And he'll follow that rule, even if he's kind of avoiding further shearing. "And also, he will learn paitence." The determination in his deep voice is crystal clear, for all that M'kai wasn't expecting to impress, or to impress well he's got ideas on what it all means. "Easier to train him now, than wait til he's really a pain in the ass."

Ixzhulqvoth chuffs and, at long last, manages to brake - only to flop down abruptly, as if remembering his legs are tired. « Loud, » he asserts with a throaty rumble. The grumpiness is observed and experienced, though, and new curiosity is borne. « Annoyance? Why. » Barely a question, that latter word. He's still learning. The new sounds are explored and soon mirrored, doubled on his mental crunching noises. "If you are certain, sha." Khu doesn't press, though there is a measure of relief when the dragons appear to settle somewhat. A few more chunks are carved and the mess dumped into a bucket on the table. M'kai's determination elicits a sidelong look, thoughtful and lingering. "Yes, sha. I believe if you can teach anyone patience. If impatience is the only thing you must train, then perhaps you are fortunate."

M'kai laughs, a deep booming thing. "If only! I imagine he's got a few more tricks up his sleeve." He would be fortunate indeed if impaitence was the only thing he had to re-direct "And I am certain. I didn't just deal with live ovines after all." He's got turns of experience. "If you need any tips?" He offers in exchange. "Although really, it's more…muscle-memory." He shrugs, moving to one of the legs to remove the meat there. « Because! » That's why Ixzhulqvoth! And really Qiyarth doesn't need any other excuse does he. Although that gnawing emptyness in his middle is shared, unrelenting and thought-consuming, a thorough disruption to the normally orderly gold-meshed thoughts of his mind. « I hunger. » The bronze turns his head back towards the buckets.

"Rukbat willing, the road will be well-lit," Khu replies with a laugh in turn, M'kai's laughter apparently being on the infectious side. Ixzhulqvoth's head swings to regard the man, eyes slow-whirling in thought. To Qiyarth, though, there's a sense of understanding - and then empathy, as his guts finally begin to growl. How long has he been hungry? That's unclear, but this is definitely not a sympathetic belly grumbling. « Understood. » The singular word is spiraled into its ink-sigil-equivalent, then it fades. « Solve. » Neither question nor statement, the symbol hangs until Khu half-turns to toss a chunk of meat at him. Clomp go his jaws and the meat is wolfed down. "I will take any help that you can offer, sha. I am good with herbs, but this-" she gestures at the mess of meat she's working with "-is beyond me."

"Where is the fun in that?" M'kai quips, the change in him since that moment he locked eyes with Qiyarth perhaps most underscored by the ease with which he banters. An underlying confidence is the payoff for his lifemates impaitence. "Probably the most important thing to remember is to work with the flow of muscle and sinew. Slip your knife in where the tissue connects." He demonstrates his words on the next tendon he excises, neat and precise. "Kind of like working with the grain of wood." He attempts to provide an analogy. To say that Qiyarth's red-eyed chargrined face looks wistful as his brown brother recieves a tidbit would be an understatement of epic proportions. « please?? » The hint of vines rise out of the inky mists of Ixzhulqvoth's sending, a sense of what is truly behind the holodeck mesh. M'kai sighs, and lays down his knife, wiping his hands on his trousers like any good herder. "I suppose." He sighs, slinging a wink towards Khu, even as he makes his own offering to Qiyarth, table-manners are important! Even if one day the bronze is going to be a ruddy great big dragon.

"If a rough road is your idea of fun," Khu replies, "then by all means, follow." Her smile quirks to a side. Then it's carving time and she pulls another chunk of meat over so she can follow along with his demonstration. Slow, of course, but the better to make sure it's done correctly. "Do you work with wood as well as meat, sha?" Curious, that. At an unspoken summons, Ixzhulqvoth pushes to his feet and starts to move - threatening to pick up speed - until Khu holds up another piece of meat. "No. Stop. Do not move your feet." Confusion reigns in the brown's mind, which is only doubled at Qiyarth's incongruent vines-behind-gold-mesh. The shadow forms stir, pressing closer. Curious. In the physical, though, he manages to trundle to some kind of stop, which earns him more meat. Clomp-nomf.

M'kai can be forgiven that his first experiences training animals came from his doggos, despite the assurances from weyrlingstaff and the unrelenting evidence of Qiyarth's own intelligence, the tall man still feels the need to use gestures as well as thought to ensure compliance. "Sit!" Comes the command along with one bloody hand moving down. With a quantam flare of those plasma-blasted wings, Qiyarth sits as directed, on his best behaviour in order to ease the dreadful clenching of his stomach. With a smile and undoubtedly some private baby-talk M'kai rewards this behaviour with a handful of meat, feeding each piece carefully. Like a sunrise over a vineyard, satisfaction stains those hidden vines, the golden glory once more resolving into the more public contained void of possibilities. "That was good. It's not like we're trying to make pretty cuts for people to eat either. That helps!" M'kai continues the lesson, even as he lessons Q. "Eh, I'd prefer no road at all." A sentiment shared by Qiyarth who's thoughts once more flare. "But that won't happen for a while." The question of wood-working is ignored in ALL THE EXCIEMENT OKAY?

By contrast, Khu's experience with training any kind of animal has been limited to caprines (which are not so much trained as treated with respect and avoidance) and her firelizards. That might explain just why it's easier for her to commune with the brown that's currently sitting, maw agape, for another morsel. And yet, words are sometimes necessary, a required slow-down of processes that are otherwise nearly faster-than-thought. Related: M'kai's command to sit is firm enough that Ixzhulqvoth sits, though he has the presence of mind to ask « Why? » of Qiyarth, as if he knows. The vineyard is studied intently for those moments that it's visible; the golden haze that descends is both a frustration and a fascination. "Ah, that is also true. But, I still like the idea of giving him something that looks… nice." In as much as raw meat can look nice. Talk of roads takes a turn, as it tends to, though it resolves at length with a skyward glance from Khu. "Ah, but that is some time off, yes. Although I fear how he will do in the skies." She won't say the brown's wings are stumpy - but they are. They totally are.

M'kai tilts a shoulder in a shrug, a you do you expression, even as he offers each chunk with adoring paitence. "I don't think they care. I know they won't later." He still remembers the carnage caused by dragons, but the ire is tempered by the bronze sitting at his feet. "I think nice looking meat has more to do with the health of the animal than the way it is cut." He examines the next bright red marbled offering before allowing Qiyarth to consume it. "And how long ago it was butchered." He adds. Qiyarth is concentrating on not yelling at the slow pace of his meal, but he does share « ??? » of his own confusion, the grid wavering slightly. « It is required? » Although he doesn't know why beyond that, people are strange, including his person. M'kai is clearly thinking even as he tries to get ahead of that horrible hunger that goads Q so. "I mean, he's clearly passed the first hurdle. He's got wings!" Doesn't matter how stumpy they are! "The rest will come." As will paitence and gravitias will come to Qiyarth.

"He does not," Khu replies with certainty. "But I do." She might change her tune in a month or two, though, as more and more needs to be carved before they're large enough to hunt. Still, the observations about the look of meat is noted and she studies the pieces she has. The rest are scooped into the bucket she's been filling and she puts it down. Ixzhulqvoth pushes to his feet and approaches, only to plunge his head into the bucket and start chomping away. She wipes her hands on a cloth and crouches, stroking fingers over his neck and shoulders. "You never did answer, sha. Did you work with wood?" A sidelong look is angled his way. "Mm." The sound is softly melodic, rising and falling. "I will hope you are right." Any other concerns are stowed for now; perhaps for good reason. The brown pokes a little at that wavering grid, tendrils of cool fog clinging to some shadowy appendage. « Is it? » He'll consider that in relative silence, the circles of ink spreading and shifting as calculations are made.

M'kai flattens his bloody hand and rocks it in the so-so motion. "It's not so much I worked with wood. More there were times I worked in the woods. Or jungles if you want to be precise." There is a slight grin for his word play. "I'd go bush from time to time." Which also explains his earlier comment about no roads at all. It probably also goes a long way to explain just how self-contained he still is, even with the hangry tantrums and the exhaustion that comes with the unending thrum of Qiyarth's mind in his own. Even as the meal continues, he glances back to his partially butchered carcass. The waste worrying him even as the red-alert in Q's eyes fades into yellow and finally into a peaceful blue. « Apparently so. » The golden mesh shrugs, a hiccup of acceptance before taking on a confusing welter of a time long gone but redolant with odd alien customs, if some of the dancers in this elaborate charade are captured by those clammy tendrils, so be it.

Beaumerath is awake and ALIVE! Or maybe the world is moving and thus he is moving. And oh look « Qiyarth my dear chap! » He greats his great bronze buddy. Yup Qiyarth, you are now his buddy. Cinnamon and cloves follow the greeting and is just overwhelmingly heavy in the 'air' even as he greets Ixhulqvoth « ANd how are you my old friend> » is the dapper little question even as he moves in to offer a playful little head butt. It isn't long before Zafina is following him out from the barracks, rushing to catch up with him. "Hey." she says simply.Perhaps it's just exhaustion that's not speaking. She comes up to the meat and looks over the pieces a bit and then glances over at Beaumerath "Come on, leave him alone, lets get you fed before my stomach crawls out through my back."
Shayera goes home.

"Southern, yes?" Either she remembers or Khu's knowledge of Pern's jungles is limited. A few more chunks are carved down and set aside; she's not going to drop them on the brown's head while he feeds. It's a delicate guessing game, figuring out how much to cut to feed him, without risking thicktail. "Is that what it is called, sha? Going 'bush'?" Confused, yes; from the pinkening of her cheeks, there might be some misinterpretation. Zafi's arrival, then, is a welcome thing and she moves aside so the blueling can get at the meat. Ixzhulqvoth lifts his head from his food bucket just in time to spot Beaumerath as he joins them. There's a thoughtful opening and closing of his maw, a faint snort, and his head lowers to accept that headbutt with one of his own. Clonk. To Qiyarth, there's a further pressing of his mind, risking the loss of an appendage in his quest to understand these entities more. That curiosity is cut short, though, at the blue's welcome, and his tendrils reach that way instead, fog rolling in with the impression of drawing nearer. « Hungry, » is his resonant response to Beau, the vibration pulling at sinew.

Qiyarth sneezes delicately, for a moment the ageless visage taking on an adorableness only a little old man babies face can. « Beaumerath. » Comes the greeting, a rich and restrained echo of the blues greeting. It is perhaps easier for Q to relate to his blue brother than his brown, even as the slight sigh of wind through the rows sweeps the shared mindscape, blowing the spices away and causing those mists to dance. One waits for a proper invitation. « I am well. » His echo of hunger less than that of Ixzhulqvoth, that pleasant point before satiation, where one savours the tastes and bouquet offered before partaking. "Yeah. Although, going bush is probably more Keroon. There were pockets up in the foothills, we'd go after wherries when I was younger." Often the hunt was only the excuse however. Zafi is given a wave, and an exhausted smile of relief. "Hey! I got that started for ya!" He gestures at the carcass that has a little bit left on it. You're welcome Zafi

Now comes the fun part. For all of Beau's hunger he does tend to be a bit finicky seeming in his tastes. For after one nibble or maybe too, he's actually quite a neat little eater. No much mess on him, but he's constantly wanting to try something different, including a nibble on buckets, barrels or anything else his mouth can which. "Beau! Leave my tunic alone, I've told you a thousand times, it's not for eating. « Well no, but it is quite suitable for tasting, my dear. » Comes his charming reply. Followed by an eyeroll, but a fond smile nonetheless from Zafi. She gives a smile to Khu as she settles into to listening for the moment. Zafi can get behind the idea of disappearing off into foothills, woods, marshes or anything that's away from everything. "Thanks, M'kai" Zafina murmurs and then gives a little bit of a yawn. and finds a different section to get some meat from. More fat, less fat, all fat, no fat. Oh look bones. That provides a quite interesting little treat for Beaumerath. So much texture to go with that, outside and inside the bone. In fact the blue seems more interesting in trying to get to the marrow than the meat that is on it.

The bucket is emptied, the last scraps wolfed down as soon as they're offered. And then Ixzhulqvoth rumbles in a too-rich, too-deep bass. Khu presses fingers to his shoulders, then over his head, then straightens to stretch just a little. "Ah, I see, sha," is relieved to some degree. Whatever misinterpretation was at work, it seems to be eased. "Perhaps not so different than walking the sand road," she muses, but shakes her head abruptly, ending that thought. With another attempted headbutt to the blue, Ixzhul lumbers toward the barracks, one stubby wing flapping awkwardly with discomfort. "Apologies, sha, saa. He needs oil." Ixzhulqvoth's mind retreats in due course, chilled fog and shadow-beasts alike being sucked back to the light-gloom that is safety. As more words are used around him, his own language adapts; the inked messages continue in the abstract, but he is more readily able to interpret. « Enjoy meat. » It's as close to 'enjoy your meal' as he'll get. Then, it's off they go, Khu leading the way into the barracks again.

M'kai is down to the last scraps he chonked up so long ago, and Qiyarth is in the slow-chewing stage, nearing repletion. "Something like that Khu…" M'kai agrees, the 'lan' still lingering in the way that change lingers. He may not be fully aware of what the sand road is, but the concept of a path less traveled is universal right? "That's next on our itnerary." Nice table manners meaning that there is less to clean up in the aftermath. But still there is the meal to complete, the last chunk or two to savor. "Nice technique." He compliments Zafi on her butchery one meat lover to another. The last chunk chewed, Qiyarth groans his satisfaction, his eyes now whirling a slow hypnotic blue. Even his thoughts take on a languid sense of satisfaction, the golden mesh overlaying the orderly elderly twinings of grapevines. « Meat is good. » He agrees and farewells his fellow, even as he finds his feet. Not made for speed on land, it will take him a while to mosey on over to the barracks and oil. "I gotta go." M'kai's lips pull downwards slightly, even as he keeps an eye on Q's progress, one of the realities of weyrlinghood is the bare moments of interaction between the newly-impressed, like starships passing in the night. "Catch you later?"

There is a happy return of the head-butt for the larger brown for he departs. « Oh, the meal will be quite enjoyed indeed old chap. You enjoy enjoy yourself a well and proper oil. » Soft swirling autumn leaves follow the brown in parting and then he is done with the bone and is wanting to try some more of teh fat « I do enjoy a good meal with my fellows. » Yes, the blue is certainly not as laconic as his brothers are. « What is this sand road though? It sounds quite interesting. » And without even waiting for an answer he's plucking thoughts from Zafi and there's a happy little rumble « Now that sounds quite intriquing, we must go there soon, and where the trees and all are.» Zafi smiles and at M'kai "Thank you, this is certainly the less onerous of our new tasks." It certainly helps to have grown up slautering and butchering the food. "You take care M'kai and yes, we'll be around, somewhere." ANd hhopefully not trying to climb up the Weyr walls anytime soon.