====October 19, 2013
====Cerise, Hannah; Jiamoth, Dhiammarath
====Hannah and Dhiammarath run across a little Jiamoth and her new rider, Cerise. Baby cuteness abounds in this scene!

Who Cerise, Hannah; Jiamoth, Dhiammarath
What Hannah and Dhiammarath run across a little Jiamoth and her new rider, Cerise. Baby cuteness abounds in this scene!
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where Training Grounds, Southern Weyr

hannah_default.jpg cerise3.jpg


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.
It is Summer and 102 degrees. It is slightly overcast.
To the southeast, you see three dragons and one runner.
On the perch are Pele and Precious.
Gold Dhiammarath and green Jiamoth are here.
You see Flamer Charging Unit here.
Cerise is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Training Pens Upper Bowl

-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 2:37 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 11 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 102 degrees. It is slightly overcast.

When you're six feet long from nose to tailtip, and built to hug the ground, the world is an immense place. With her side-set limbs, Jiamoth resembles an incredibly fancy trundlebug when she exits the barracks, wings fanned out to either side of her and head held directly forward on a thick neck. Poor thing looks odd with that low, pudgy body and smaller, sharp-carved face, the narrow muzzle with its beaklike tilt. But does she care? No. Because here is the world, and here she is to explore it. She trundles ahead of Cerise, determinedly fixated on waddling from swept stone floors to raked dirt in order to experience what the softer soil feels like on her paw pads. It's when she pauses to wedge her digits deeper into the earth that the ex-performer catches up with her, already sweating in the thickness of the southern afternoon. "…wait until you see the beach. Sand is even better," she says to a comment unheard.

It is only the slight overcast to the skies that keeps the day from being heatstroke inducing as the temperatures swell over the one hundred degree mark. In the heat of the day, with the light of Rukbat shining brightly behind the thick clouds that offer slight protection, Dhiammarath lies curled at the farthest edge of the training grounds, her pale irridescence soaking up the buttermilk light offered by Rukbat so far above. Ja'kai and Ilayth have taken a few of the weyrlings who struggle the most with their new mindlink off to the side to give some one-on-five lessons. Tucked against the curve of her lifemate's side, Hannah's wearing a strapless dress in a shade of pale lavender. Her white-blond hair is piled carefully into an updo that leaves tendrils to frame her face; enough formality exists, especially in the heels she still wears, that it's clear the junior's just come from some meeting or another. Don't mind them, they're just here to watch the little ones. Dhiammarath's maternal touch is a caress of cool jade, gentle and soft, that comes with a deep, abiding sense of maternal serenity.

« Mother! » At this stage, hatched one sevenday, Jiamoth's exuberant mindvoice does still sometimes bleed into open channels- as it does now, in a giddy mix of champagne bubbles and crystal chiming, framed by a crowd's happy laughter. Such color! Such color, in direct contrast to the lack thereof shown in the tiny green as she unroots herself from the earth to trundle- determined little wanderer- in the gold's direction. Were this a different world, one could almost hear the chugga chugga sounds that accompany this trek across the entirety of the grounds, her belly scant inches above the ground. Cerise is slightly less ebullient about exerting herself in this humidity, but she's not far behind either, with a stage salute for Hannah and a lopsided grin for the infant's enthusiasm. "…she's barely one of Dhiammarath's talons," she remarks when the pair grow near enough for such comparisons.

Indulgence; the chuff that Dhiammarath gives to her green daughter is gentle, careful of the diminutive size of the little dragonet, but yet still carries the heat of maternal tolerance of one's off-spring. Hannah carries a slight smile as she watches the little Jiamoth make her way towards Dhiammarath, though her eyes are pulled from the dragonet and dragon to the rider that comes behind. The maternal softness to her own expression fades a touch, reserved for the little ones more than their riders. Still the smile she offers the new greenrider is sincere when she says with confidence, "She'll grow. And when she does, you'll miss the smaller her when it's gone." A quick look to baby and dam, before brows raise at Cerise. "Congratulations on Impression." A tease there? Perhaps. "How are you?" This is a more sharply asked question, green eyes searching the new greenrider's face — perhaps to ensure that all is well in the state of Cerise and Jiamoth.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: Light is the touch of jade, woven with sweetgrass and lemon to tickle the senses, that connects with Jiamoth's young mind, a gentle redirection of her exhuberance. Jewel'd colors flicker, but for now the queen holds back the entirety of the depth of her mentalscape. « Daughter. » Maternal, gentle, fond. « You grow like a weed. » »

Little Jiamoth shows no such restraint. Upon reaching her golden dam, the pale green launches herself at forepaws immense enough to capture her whole. With such a low center of gravity, climbing is something she can do well and she sets to it with gusto. Baby talons are still too soft and small to do more than lightly mark the oil steeped into Dhiammarath's hide but that oil does transfer and after a moment, that plush, low-slung body slides- fwoop, right over into the space between paws, her descent marked by another mental stream of fizzing giggles. As for Cerise, it might be that she's not trying to block any of the lovebeams transferred from dragon to rider; her expression shows unusual good cheer, a loss of the gauntness that had plagued her through the months since coming to Southern. For Hannah, she grins. "Thank you, ma'am. I hadn't thought I had it in me. We're…doing really well." There's a pause, and then a quiet, almost conspiratorial addition: "She's much more well behaved than Dimi's bronze."

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth takes a cue from this example set, attempting to reel back the overwhelming. Dancing light refines itself into water dapples cast against a painted wall, though no true light has ever contained such colors. « I hope so! To grow even faster than a weed. When I have, then we'll be allowed to other places and I should like to see them. Have you come to stay? Will you be here for dinner? We are to have ovine! I think it might be my favorite. »

Dhiammarath is tolerance embodied, until the little green goes sliding down her hide which prompts the gold's massive head to swing down and nudge her little green daughter into rights. Hannah, with a smile to the antics of dragons, gives her head a shake. "Good." And she means it, turning to look now at Jiamoth, moving out of the way when the little dragonet does her falling routine, heels clack-clacking on the ground. "Oh Dimitri," does this come with the roll of the junior's eyes? "I still can't believe — " Another shake of her head is given, but this is the part where some of the old annoyances have been smoothed away by having been bonded to one of their babies. "— I think he'll have his hands full." Now, the goldrider might just be a little humored by this thought. "Now, tell me what she's like?" Not demand, question. "I can see she might be a little bit of a handful too."

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: Indulgence humor ripples through the dancing colors that play along the soft jade link that touches the youthful Jiamoth's mind. So careful is the queen's touch that it's more the caress of a gentle hand, barely brushing the thoughts against Jiamoth's, like bubbles that drift through water dapples cast against the green's painted wall. « Ovine is delicious. Even more when you catch it yourself. » A warning is pressed here, ensuring that her children don't run off to the weyrling's feeding pens: Not ready yet. « I am always here, daughter-mine. This weyr is my home, but mine and my beloved do take trips. » »

"Bronze, right? Maybe even Weyrleader one day." Cerise's grin is irrepressible, and for once the dimples aren't simply for show. She's perhaps more pleased with that than her own sweet little partner, who is even now flailing around joyfully to right herself. Like a turtle, Jiamoth finds that being low and wide makes righting herself an ordeal. The nudging is help that is welcomed and thanked, with a bump of narrow, hooked muzzle to larger gleaming one, once she has her paws beneath her again. "I knew he would but never to bronze. Jia…she's…well, interested. In everything. Everyone. Less about what she can do and where she can go, more with those around her. But she's no handful, she's a delight. I'll have to remember to-" She doesn't finish, because a small celadon tail is winding around her ankle, prompting her to bend over to rub over Jia's cheeks with both hands, earning a hum of pleasure. "…Dhiammarath must be proud. So many bronzes."

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth considers this, though admittedly she's somewhat distracted by the cheek-rubbing. Like a child peeping out from beneath a towel while it's hair is dried, so too does she reserve a section of thought for her dam. Just that. Thoughtful but dimmed, briefly. « Will I be large enough? I am smaller than the others, shorter. In her head, ovine are taller than me, » she finally says upon return. « What trips? »

"Bronze," Hannah affirms, brows raising a touch. Though yet still a baby, the comment on Chorzeczoyth's potential as Weyrleader someday gets a hint of the feral creature that lurks behind the maternal, reserved trappings of the goldrider's every-day face. "He can try," she murmurs, but that is the case with the bronzes. All of them. Striving for — that vein of thought is snipped off as the junior weyrwoman turns to fully eye Cerise, a grin tugging on her features. "Dhiammarath is proud of the clutch, Cerise. The color spread and importance therein is a human concept that we've attached to it. She's happy that every one of her offspring is healthy and Impressed." Beat. "And that they stay healthy." Only a hint of melancholy touches the goldrider's features when she adds, "If only their memories weren't so short." The golden dam croons a soft sound towards her exuberant offspring: affection displayed in the light touch. That is, until Jiamoth's returned to Cerise's capable hands. "You've bonded well. I think Weyrlinghood will be good for you, and when you and she are old enough, you can resume your lessons of dancing with fire." A rueful look: "My fans were broken in an unfortunate accident."

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: Again, indulgent humor is threaded through the gentle caress of jade and jewel tones. A glimpse of the rock garden is shown, but the connection is kept simple. Light enough that Jiamoth's youthful, fragile mind can easily handle without being overwhelmed. « You will grow, little one. » Of this, she is certain. « Listen to Ilayth. She will know when you are ready to hunt. » Deep shades of darker jewel-tones, sapphire, ruby, and onyx, hint at the thrill that the hunt offers but yet again with that pulsing warning of not yet, not yet, not yet. « We must visit other Holds upon occasion, but I am never far than a moment's jump away. » »

"Don't worry," Cerise says, that touch of reassurance in her voice so over the top that it's plain high spirits have led to teasing, "I doubt he'd even want to try. He never did like being in charge." That had fallen to her shoulders, and it comes easily enough: without even seeming aware of it, she's bent down to absently sort Jiamoth out, gently patting wings to sides and reordering her tail lest it come too close to being stepped on. "She'll forget family, then?" the ex-performer asks as she straightens up- only to find herself distracted at mention of the fans. Some concern shows, perhaps at the thought of the time needed for lessoning, but mostly she displays curiosity. "…that, ah, wasn't you was it? Practicing?" That the question is so hesitantly phrased betrays suspicions that no doubt cropped up after word of the platform's burning was heard.

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth has the very best of children's tools available to her: excitement, curiosity, energy. But first and best in her arsenal is the most simple of all. A single syllable, ruby-bright: « Why? Why do you visit Holds if everything is here? »

"They all forget," Hannah says this somewhat sadly. "This is why we must do their remembering for them. Dhiammarath loves all of her weyr, but her children the most." Until she forgets, but she helps the gold to remember. "Honestly, I'm not worried. D'tri trying to play Weyrleader against Lendai?" Brows raise, expression expectant. "Lendai would eat him alive." Amusement plays within this statement, though consideration is made for Chorzeczoyth. "Although, who knows how his bronze will influence him? Dragons, they change us. Not in the obvious ways, but in subtle ways. I suppose it's not unlike everything else. Families change us, circumstances…" The goldrider trails off with a shrug. However, she gives a quick shake of her head. "No, they were broken a while ago. It was dark and they'd fallen to the floor and gotten crushed." Cerise's gaze is steadily met, the truth within that statement evident. "However, I was thinking that maybe it's time to get a real pair. Not just a practice pair." Maybe with some pretty designs. The statement is a lead in for Cerise to chime up with who might be able to provide such a thing!

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: Laughter — maternal, whisper-soft and gentle — tickle the senses of little Jiamoth like grains of shiny, jewel-crushed sands sweeping across the link. « Because there is a much, much bigger world out there that you will someday see. And because for our weyr to succeed, we must forge ties to those who live beyond our borders. » A reflective pause, then: « And sometimes we seek to get away to have time to ourselves. » »

"He'd definitely need some help," Cerise says wryly, of her brother's chances. Of course, that's why sisters exist! Notice the grin, both teasing and perhaps a little thoughtful- though whether this is at the idea of D'tri the Weyrleader, or what Hannah says before shifting to a different topic, there's no telling. Instead, up go impressive eyebrows as the message is received. "Seriously? I worked on those forever!" Just a hint of disgruntlement. "You'll want to take plans to one of the Smiths, for a proper set. The metal needs to be light and thin enough to move, but not so light and thin that you can break it by-" Which is when Jiamoth opts to insert herself into the conversation, in a way that reddens her girl's cheeks. The green had been enjoying her quiet conversation but this is just too puzzling to pass over, this rather loud projection of Hannah wrestling with Th'seus.

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth knows only of communal living, both in her experience and that of Cerise's. Time alone? A daunting thought. Bubbles and glitter shrink together into smaller, swirling spheres, pulling away from the concept of "alone" and chasing…well, this other concept, innocently stolen from someone's mind. « Forge ties? » she inquires, trying to pin a phrase to the image. Is this right?

Hannah stares at Cerise. Eyes widen, lips slightly part. Come on, that loud projection is enough to halt whatever other part of the conversation was being held as the goldrider stares at the newest greenrider. "You…" is that laughter she's trying to choke back? "… have a much more exciting view of my life than what I get to live." Again with the staring.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: Glittering jeweled sands gently blow in an unseen wind. Again, the depth is hinted at; the single glow of a stone lanturn in the twilight of the day. « Time alone with mine. When you are older, you will appreciate that. » A tickle of jade as maternal presence aims to soothe away the withdraw against daunting concepts. « But for now you and yours are together as it should be. » »

Cerise can only hope it is laughter, because as she chokes and turns that special shade of dark, Jiamoth is turning her head to look impatiently from one woman to the other. Come on! It was a fair question! "Not now," the young woman mutters. How often has she ever looked so awkward or uncomfortable here at Southern? How about never. But there is Dhiammarath to the rescue, teasing Jia's burble of curiosity to a less invasive level. Faceted eyes, all awhirl, shift up and up and up to study- with evident pleasure- the picture the gold makes against the backdrop of that silvery sky. "…so, ah. Aye. Smiths," Cerise moves on, "I have some plans in our wagon I can pass on to it, if ye'd like."

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth perks at that brief window into greater depths. She'd push forward against it but the tickling does as was likely intended- sways her into a fizzy giggle, her voice, Cerise's, those of every other person she's met all joined in high amusement. « Yes! I like it this way. All of us together. You learn so much about others when you live with them. »

Cerise is saved only because the glow of Dhiammarath's motherhood is so freshly held within the dam's heart and that filters into Hannah. Though, color does suffuse her cheeks at the topic. Or maybe at the idea that has now been put in her head. "So. Yes. I would love that. With your permission, I could fetch it later?" Or does Cerise have someone to go get it? After a moment's pause, she gives the new greenrider a less-mortified look and some encouragement, "The random, ah, projection of your thoughts will ease with time. As she grows and as you gain control of the link." Always, does the junior use these situation as teaching opportunities.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: « It is the best time, so enjoy it while it lasts. » A sweep of jade and jeweled sands against that single stone lanturn that flickers with candlelight encourages the excitement for her siblings. A single thought given: « Family. » Most important. »

Just kill her now. A bolt from the heavens would be appreciated, please and thank you. Cerise passes a hand over her face, attempting some sort of recovery. It comes with a wan chuckle and an increased burr in her voice when she says, "Nora…the assistant headwoman, she knows where it would be. Second case up on the shelf opposite the door, s'where I store my sketches." Rather sobering, to realize she can't just drop Jiamoth over her shoulders and wander on out there. "Good to know that gets better. She's, ah…usually she just takes stuff in, doesn't put it out again like that," she admits. Ahh, complacency. How it sets us up for failure.

Dhiammarath senses Jiamoth offers up a pulse of agreement- easy agreement, untutored agreement, but agreement all the same- before sinking into a space that is slightly less excited, less energetic. It's the patterns of candlelight that do it, lulling the infant into a state far more reflective and (can Cerise hope!) even drowsy. « The very best time. It is perfect here. Perfect in every way. »

"Nora!" Hannah might exclaim the headwoman's name in her grasp of getting away from awkward topics. In a calmer tone. "I'll talk to Nora, then. About the plans and see Aaron." About the fans. Not about the bonfire, which this junior neatly side-steps around and doesn't even mention the flames that engulfed her Hatching Sands. "Just make sure she doesn't take the wrong things in. She's very fragile right now." It's a warning that Cerise has probably heard many times from Ja'kai at this point. "Extreme emotions and all that, but re-directing her attention to what's out there to explore is a good tactic. Or physical touch might re-direct her thoughts before the more, ah, personal details slip out." Again, with the staring.

Dhiammarath thinks to you, « I bespoke Jiamoth with: The flickering candlelight within that stone lanturn become the focal point as the mentalscape dims. Flicker-flicker. It's the visual lullaby that comes with the brush of sweetgrass to lull the senses. « The very best. » Agreement is soft, warbling in the clear sound of her mental voice hushed to a whisper. »

It's one thing to be told, another entirely to experience. When Hannah mentions physical touch, Cerise glances at the dragonet- Jiamoth's lids are slooooooowly starting to unfurl across her eyes, courtesy of her dam's intervention- and then stoops to begin gathering the green up. Fortunately, she is far more fluffy than she is hefty, though it remains an awkward armful until Jia helps by curling around her young woman here and there, holding with tail and neck and oh look here comes a yaaaaaawn that causes her green tongue to curl at the tip. "On that note," says the once performer, leaning back slightly to compensate for the new weight she's holding onto, "I think I'll see her back to the barracks for a nap." Still, even though she's prepared to take her leave…she's grinning again, the humor rolling in. It wasn't her personal details that escaped, after all.

"They will nap a lot." Hannah's tone holds a wistful quality, remembrance of her own lifemate as a baby coming to play. It's like cats - you always wish for them to be kittens again! "You take care, Cerise." A deep breath is taken as the goldrider gathers herself for the rest of the day. "It was lovely to meet little Jiamoth. She truly is beautiful." Pride is two-fold: both Hannah and Dhiammarath take pride in all the pretty little dragons. Brows lift, and she can't help but return in a droll voice, "Don't mind me. I missed my calling as a wrestler." Her own humor rolls in, but for an entirely, entirely different reason. "Clear skies." Ja'kai is given a brief wave before the goldrider turns on her heels — she's gained a good four inches! She desperately needs to see Donatien about some six-inch ones — and walks with purpose towards the leadership courtyard. Dhiammarath stays behind to stand as a pale-gold sentinel over the learning of her babies.
Add a New Comment