====November 8, 2013 (started)/November 17 (finished)
====Maosa and E'don
====Maosa and Osweith are up to something. E'don and Qianvaelth have some understandable questions.

Who Maosa and E'don
What Maosa and Osweith are up to something. E'don and Qianvaelth have some understandable questions.
When There are 0 turns, 9 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where SW - Training Grounds

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Southern Weyr - Training Grounds
A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of pressence when empty, the everpresent wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.


Earlier today, flamethrower practice: and the Training Grounds still reek of agenothree and singed wood. The fun's long over, of course; the sun's setting, and most of the good little boys and girls are already curled up safe and sound within the Barracks. Osweith and Maosa… are not good. They are rules-benders of the worst sort. And they're currently bending the rules by being out in the yard now, taking advantage of the quiet to pick through some leftover target debris shoved off to the side of the training yard. Or, specifically, Maosa is doing this, while Osweith's rapidly rising shoulders provide decent cover. Why? Who the hell even knows with those two.

Yeeaah, if anyone pegged E'don a do-gooder, well, they didn't know him well enough. Where the good weyrlings have long since packed up and turned in for the evening, E'don can't let the man tell him what to do— specifically when it comes to bedtime routines. While Maosa and Osweith are picking through the wreckage of the group's pyromania, the other weyrling has slipped out from the Barracks alone, carrying a lone towel and a spare bowl, presumably to pick up an extra bath and meal before bedtime; it's something he probably has already done this evening, does things on his own schedule. Osweith's presence at one corner of the grounds piques the rider's curiosity, and he's about facing to saunter as nonchalantly up to the pair. "Um," he stops a reasonable distance away from the pair, watching with a tilt of his head, "What are you doing?"

Maosa is reasonably more talkative than she once was. (Given that she spent the first sevenday at Southern saying less than ten words in public, this is not exactly a difficult accomplishment.) But still, E'don can hardly be surprised when his question is met, for a long and uncomfortable pause, with a stare. Two stares, in fact: Osweith joins right on in. Finally, the newbie bluerider deigns to answer, holding aloft a chunk of blackened wood for E'don to see. "Getting charcoal. Why?" The blue's tail twitches, just once, his steady regard as unwavering as his rider's.

"Why do you need charcoal?" E'don looks a bit unnerved, eyes drifting between blue rider and her dragon, a double-take take causes him to instinctually step back, hands worrying against the bowl and towel in his hands. To admit Maosa's steely, unwavering stare unnerves him would be an understatement. "I just ask, you know, because we're suppose to be back in there." He motions behind him to the Barracks, totally failing to address why he is also outside past curfew. "You aren't going to feed it to him, are you?" And then, as if on cue, Qianvaelth lumbers out from the same direction as his rider, plodding with sure and steady steps towards his bonded. "Woah, woah, Qian, I told you that I'd be back in like— no, you don't need to check out what she's holding."

"You're outside, too." Trust Maosa to not let that slip by her. Leaving Osweith to stare at E'don - and then at his bronze brother, tail twitching once again - the jungle girl calmly crouches back down by debris and resumes her shifting. It's not a silent process, but she's certainly not making the kind of racket most people would, lifting pieces and digging for her objective with muted grace. Because Maosa. (Is creepy.) Much belatedly, he is given an answer. "Osweith wants it." Not so much a tail twitch this time as a tail lash. She may have disclosed too much information for the blue's taste? Maosa briefly looks up from her task, stares thoughtfully at her lifemate, and then calmly returns to rummaging. Lest E'don continue to fear: "Not to eat."

"For what?" E'don's look is dubious as returns Osweith's unwavering stare with a suspicious stink eye in return. "Are you using it to draw something with?" Well, if this is a game of twenty questions, this guy will happily play along. That is, until Maosa calls him out on his own shenanigans. "I was just making an observation - about being outside - I never said I wasn't breaking any rules." For his naturally slow and methodical lurching, Qianvaelth is pretty speedy today, well, relatively, hulking his way up to his blue brother to shove his wide head right into the thick of things, nostrils flaring to catch the pungent scent of burnt wood. He might even be pushing his snout down into the mess if Osweith doesn't prevent him. "Are— you teaching him to draw with it?"

Maosa does not answer. She simply looks at E'don for a long, long pause, unblinking, unmoving. And then she goes right back to sifting charcoal. Uh. Okay? Osweith is slightly more revealing, but not in any particularly helpful way: Qianvaelth's intrusion into his SPACE has the blue's tail at a sharp exclamation point (!), his eyes whirling. He backs up, a few sulky steps, to accommodate his sibling's bulk, but he cannot be said to be doing it with any degree of enthusiasm: if he had (movable) ears they'd be flat to his skull, but as it is he can only express his ire with a slight flare of the wings. (Or he could just say something, but where's the fun in that?) Maosa is unperturbed by a bronze muzzle all up in her business, though. She just takes advantage of Qianvaelth's shifting of the mess to snatch a bit of previously unreachable blackened booty. This is just so weird.

<Local> Osweith senses that: Qianvaelth percolates with e soft rustling of autumn leaves, a steady young oak, too large for trappings of sapling-hood, too small to be rich with the rings of maturity. It's a climbing tree, with soft bark and ample boughs, spread out across Qian's mindscape in gentle assurance. Stay a while, you restless, paranoid wanderer, it seems to beckon. I am no threat to you.

"Okay." E'don punctuates monotone, having nothing really to go with at this point. This time when Maosa stares, he looks away, unable to keep any real resolve in matching her gaze. "So if it isn't for eating. And not for writing with. And it's for your dragon— clearly it's not for any of those Mountain men rituals." The weyrling ticks off his deducing factors with a few fingers as he goes along, "Oh, is it a laxative? I mean, you said it wasn't for eating, but maybe it's for pooping better. That's really important." Sage words from this guy right here. Qian is all the more blissfully unaware of his brother's displeasure, the softest of creaks and groans emitting from the depths of the bronze's barrel chest. He takes another sniff, full and deep and totally enough to suck a few bits of debris up into those nasal cavities. Mmm, the smell of burning.

<Local> Osweith senses that: Osweith thinks « If Qianvaelth is the soft bark and reassurance of nature, Osweith is harsh-lit endless corridors in monochrome. There's a glowbasket somewhere up above, unwelcoming in its intensity, almost witheringly bright. Nothing natural grows HERE. « I'm not paranoid. » He's not a good liar yet, not quite come into the ability to manage the occasional flashes of dapper charm, but this statement comes out perfectly natural, a sulky protest in baritone… because Osweith totally believes it is true. »

"No." Maosa finally moves, mostly because Qianvaelth is totally up in her space, and also because his rummaging has freed up a new area to pick through. Score! A few more pieces collected, and she rocks back onto her heels, examining her booty for a moment before tucking it calmly away in her uniform. "Stop asking. I'm not supposed to tell you what it's for." An admission in and of itself, and Osweith's wings flare another precise few centimeters, much wroth with displeasure. A tail lash. And then, pointedly, he turns away, a shadowed sight of big blue butt before he starts stalking gracefully away. Maosa stands, scratches the side of her nose with a sooty finger, and turns her attention to E'don. "If you could forget that I said that," she tells him, solemnly, "that would be nice."

"You think I'm just going to do so because you asked nicely?" E'don sounds rightly perplexed, and its emphasized with a slight cock of his head to study Maosa at a different angle. Perhaps it'll make more sense that way. His gaze flicks up to study Osweith with a worrying twitch of his lips before his attention os draw back on Maosa, hands coming up to ruffling his hair in a confused and frustrating groan. "You two are so weird. But really, are you going to decorate the barracks with it? Draw war paint on Osweith's hide? Secret mountain men hyroglifs?— am I getting any warmer?" Nope, E'don isn't going to stop asking because that'd be like asking E'don to not breathe air anymore. Qian, wrapped up in his own curiosity, turns his bulky head to wuffle against Osweith's flickering wings, more amused now than curious.

<Local> Osweith senses that: Qianvaelth rejoiner is filled with the deep groans and creaks of whispering oak trees, mirth winding around rustling branches and leaves. If Osweith's mind is filled with the unnatural glow of overhead lights and hospital white hallways, Qianvaelth hopes to fill them with the glen and brooks of his own landscape. «I never said you were, brother.» The bronze's deepening baritone sings with the mossy inflection of affection and amusement. «It was implied.»

"Yes." Well, then. How do you like THEM apples? Maosa stares solemnly at E'don for one of her standard uncomfortably long moments, before she simply shrugs. "Why do you care, anyway?" Idly she starts scrubbing her fingers off on the black cloth of her uniform trousers, which hopefully are due for the wash pile this evening. "I mean," she adds, baldly, after a long moment of contemplation, "I don't care what you're doing." Osweith pauses in his stalk at his sibling's whuffle, stares for a long long beat, and then continues to loftily stalk away. He is dignity INCARNATE, and not strange at all.

Osweith thinks to you, « I bespoke Qianvaelth with: Osweith thinks « The HA! that follows is felt sooner than spoken, the sound echoing strangely in twisting corridors that war against the organic armies by growing ever more byzantine and sterile. « HA! » He all but pounces. « Then you admit you do think I'm paranoid! » Triumph rings in his voice; overhead, the lights go up to eleven. « Well I'm not. I am PERFECTLY NORMAL. » No one who is perfectly normal has ever said that, ever, not even once. Osweith continues on, oblivious to this fact. « I'm just observant. »

"I care -" E'don pauses for a moment to ruffle his hair some more, and perhaps to think of a coherent reason why he should care. "Because it's clear that what you're doing out here isn't what you're supposed to be doing." Perhaps E'don is the morality and rule police? Perhaps - "And seeing that I'm going off to do something I'm not suppose to -" Nope, just kidding, "I figured I'd ask what you were doing because it might be, I don't know, cooler?" His brows furrow momentarily, but that moment of vulnerability, perhaps just that moment of sharing, is done. "Anyway, it looks lame, so if you don't tell me, that's cool too."

<Local> Osweith senses that: Qianvaelth 's rustling beaches scrape with increased amusement, the calm, steady tree in the storm of Osweith's protest. The treetops of Qianvaelth's mind seem to thicken, boughs and branches reaching to temper the growing starkness of his brother's increasing sterility. «You are you.» The bronze's voice is steady and warm, a misty reverence that softens against the harsh corridors of Osweith's mood. «You should protest less though. It does not suit you.» Matter of fact. Sure and steady. Qian knows~

Maosa considers this for a long while, even by Maosa standards: one could take a miniature snooze in the solid silent minute that passes before she finally speaks. "It's not something boring. It's -" CUE DRAMATIC WING FLARE from Osweith, who whirls around and stares at his lifemate, tail lashing "- nothing you need to know about." After a moment, and perfectly casually, she adds, "What are you doing, anyway?" Didn't she just say she didn't care? "Not that I care." Oh.

Osweith thinks to you, « I bespoke Qianvaelth with: Osweith thinks « Within his maze Osweith retreats, throwing ever-more complex pathways between himself and his sibling. Clearly, he is in no mood to be soothed by the bronze's earthy calm. « Oh, » comes his voice, sullen, at a great distance. « Go chew on a root. » Stop trying to be friendly Qianvaelth, OSWEITH DOES WHAT HE WANTS >:( Also, belatedly, and with a lash of territorial aggravation: « Your rider asks too many questions. » » »

"I'm going to run starkers through the living caverns." E'don says this so matter-of-factly, that perhaps he's serious about it. Perhaps he is going to run butt ass naked through the inner weyrs. "And then after I do that, I'm sneaking into the kitchens and dipping my butt into any of the pre-made pies they have ready for the morning." There's a slight quirk of his lip that draws a momentary look of amusement. Oh, he probably is joking after all. "If you want to watch, you're more than welcome to come join in the festivities— but your charcoal hunt seems way cooler."

<Local> Osweith senses that: Qianvaelth rustles still, the soft sway and creaks of steady branches swaying in the wind, and then slows to a soft shut before silencing all together. «I will enjoy my own company then.» He doesn't even sound hurt, Qian, just resolute in his brother's request— after all, the best company you can have is your own company. There's a soft lull, the retreating tendrils of organic matter, before they're coming back full force at Osweith's last comment, a cracking and groaning of moving roots. Of moving trees. «E'don asks the right amount of questions. Be well to remember it.» And then, as quickly as his temper flairs, he retreats fully from Osweith's labyrinth of hallways.

"Not if it's going to involve you naked," sniffs Maosa. "That's gross." Boys are gross. Without a further word, she makes a single shooing motion at him; shoo, shoo. Her pale eyes flick towards the doorway of the barracks, perhaps contemplating the best way to sneak back in under the watchful eye of the AWLMs. And then, with a single wave, she's moving silently towards it, tunic pockets lumpy with her mysterious plunder. Osweith does not immediately pay attention to this: he's more preoccupied with a stare at Qianvaelth, silent both mentally and audibly. And then, with utmost dignity, he stalks in his rider's wake, ignoring both clutchbrother and clutchbrother's rider.

If Weyrlinghood has imparted any wisdom into E'don's very tiny brain, he perhaps shows good judgement here. Maosa's shooing motion is met with an equally dismissive wave back, and he's turning on his heels in the opposite direction of the Barracks. Perhaps he's actually going streaking, but he doesn't say— "You're loss." He calls over his shoulder at the retreating pair, before moving jauntily off in the opposite direction. To do what? Oh, who the hell knows. Probably something not so good. Qianvaelth is left to his own devices, to pick up the task of sniffing about in the charred remains.

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