====November 1, 2013
====Cerise, D'tri, G'deon
====What should have been happy introductions turns into something else entirely.

Who Cerise, D'tri, G'deon
What What should have been happy introductions turns into something else entirely.
When Summer, 10 months until the 12th Pass
Where Training Grounds, Southern Weyr

cerise16.jpg dimitri06.png Gid09.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.

"Look— look, if you just. Chorz— Chorzeczoyth." D'tri's wandering around the training grounds late afternoon, in large, self-assured strides! Nevermind the fact that he seems to have taken a tumble from the looks of the dirt streaked across one of his arms, and… is that some on his face, as well? Yep. Nevertheless, his confidence has proven a hard thing to beat out of him. But confidence cannot stop him from being forced to stop quite suddenly due to aforementioned bronze Chorzeczoyth - in all his nearly 20 feet of length - darting out in front of him and nearly bowling him over. Both his eyebrows and arms shoot up and stay there in the frozen aftermath of a flail, teeth gritted. His eyes track the bronze making a U-turn in a hop of all limbs springing out almost at once, a weak grin on his lips. Graceful it's not. Neither of them. "… Sometimes, you know. I feel like I'm talking to myself. Do you ever have that? No? Is it because you're a stupid, rusty— aaAAWHY." A sentence cut off and turned into a very much not-so-manly yelp by yet ANOTHER near collision as Chorzeczoyth barrels his way past to stick his beak-like nose into the dirt of the Training Grounds in some, apparently, VERY important spot that he needed to be at RIGHT NOW. D'tri? He just stands, and watches, sloowly letting his arms sink back to roughly where they're supposed to be hanging. Dragons.

It is into this little pocket of weyrling chaos that G'deon and Nylanth enter, the former walking at a casual pace, the latter taking almost painfully slow steps so as not to out-pace. The older bronze pair stop in unison to watch the antics of D'tri and Chorzeczoyth for a moment, but they have resumed in time for G'deon to approach D'tri just as he starts to lower his arms. "Excess of energy?" he asks, voice a mellow and amused bariton, "or does his snout itch?" For Nylanth's part, he merely settles back on his haunches, his own size dwarfing the far younger bronze.

D'tri answers easily, though he is apparently entirely too self-absorbed to even look at G'deon, "You know what, I don't even know. He's got secrets. I think it might be punishment. I told him, I told him, one thing, one thing right. If he does one thing right, we're going to the beach. Instead, nope, he's keeping secrets." The weyrling's own voice gives way to equal amounts of amusement and frustration. He straightens his back, reaching a hand to brush some dirt off the side of his face, and continues his brief ramble. "I give it until dinner until he sneaks off on his own. I can feel it." In his gut, if his sudden handful of shirt is any indication. Chorzeczoyth, meanwhile, does look toward both G'deon and Nylanth. Crimson-red front of his snout still covered in dirt, he stops in his tracks and curiously peers at the pair while his wings fan idly halfway out and twitch back in again.

G'deon has not been working with the weyrlings quite long enough yet to really know what's normal for the weyrling and dragon pairs, and what isn't, so he merely watches the young bronze, peering right back toward the curious crimson-tipped snout. Nylanth settles down to all fours and gradually works his way down to a lounging posture, moving slowly in a careful, methodical way. Finally, G'deon turns back to D'tri. "He does this often?"

"Always." D'tri turns and looks first at Nylanth - eyebrows popping up again as if he's forgotten exactly how big these dragons can get - and then at G'deon. Looking him up and down for a moment before his expression changes almost entirely. Suddenly, he's smiling the smile of someone who's learned to do so with a striking resemblance to sincerity. Although… a twitch of his brow betrays at least some amount of worry, as his voice rattles on all too sure of himself, "What was your name again? I'm going to have to start learning those now that I'm pretty much banish-proof, I suppose." KRrraHH. That'd be Chorzeczoyth rattling off some vocalizations of his own, as he picks up speed and bounds toward Nylanth, eyes a-swirlin' blues.

As if on cue, with instinct for showing up their siblings on display, Cerise and Jiamoth amble out of the barracks. For all that Cerise is garbed in the featureless green and black uniform of a weyrling, for all that Jiamoth is lowslung, coming only to her lady's hip, and still the roundest of the dragons, they both move with a sort of contented grace. When the late afternoon's sunshine falls over them, both show the glimmer of a recent oiling, making Jia's jeweled neckridges sparkle with color and Cerise's hands and forearms look dipped in bronze. When the human rakes her hand back through her hair to clear it from her face, the dragon rakes her wing's thumb-talon over her brow and cocks her head in coy curiosity at Chorzeczoyth's antics. "…this'd be G'deon, bronze Nylanth's and our new assistant weyrlingmaster, Dimi," Cerise supplies.

For G'deon's part, he has a pretty good poker face in check at the moment, so whether or not he's able to catch that twitch of brow, he does not indicate. He is on the point of answering with their names when the newly-arrived Cerise offers them instead. "That would be correct," G'deon affirms, nodding polite thanks to the green'ling. "Now, if you two would be so kind as to give me your names, I would greatly appreciate it." His tone is genial, and yet assertive. He wants the requested information, and he would like it now, but thank you very much all the same. "Nylanth and I would like to start getting to know your class a little before we jump into lessons and the like. Though I've already met a small handful via the dragon check-ups."

Behold, D'tri's eyebrows yet again seem to move of their own accord— downward this time, with the arrival of Cerise. Not that he's displeased, they just sort of do that. But then as soon as she speaks G'deon's name, they spring right back up again. "Oh! I see. Somehow— hm." Again, he looks G'deon over, this time with his smile taking on a certain… smugness. "Somehow I'd imagined you… taller. Anyway!" Quick to move on, beaming brightly now, he squares back his shoulders and takes a few swift steps backwards to meet up with Cerise. After hooking an arm through one of hers (and possibly jabbing an elbow lightly into her side), he starts, "Meet Cerise and li'l Jiamoth," but despite a tone of that sentence not being quite done yet, he doesn't continue but instead bends at the middle in a low bow, free arm sweeping to the side.

It's been almost a Turn since they've had occasion to perform this move but Cerise still knows her cues. True, her brother might earn a dark glance for the jab, but her voice betrays no sign of that annoyance as she finishes, "And D'tri with chaotic Chorzeczoyth." Her bow is a twin of the newbie bronzerider's, that hair-pushing maneuver now rendered useless as curls tumble into her face when she bends low, opposite arm swept sidewards. As for li'l Jiamoth, she lacks the height (and waist) for bowing, but she too dips to press chest, neck and head against the ground with rump raised head, eyes set at a merry whirl of aqua green.

"Why in Faranth's name would I want to be taller?" G'deon asks, meeting D'tri's smugness with a somewhat flat look. "I've been plagued by backaches my entire life. If I were taller, they would be worse, or so my sister always assured me. And she would know." He goes quiet to witness the siblings' introduction act. Dark blue eyes regard the two for a moment, then switch to study first Jiamoth, then Chorzeczoyth again, as if committing names and appearances to memory. Nylanth merely watches, and as the little bronze approaches him, he lays his head on the ground, eyes whirling a slow mixture of dark greens and darker blues. "Well," G'deon cuts back in at that moment. "Now we know a little bit more about each other," he says, while fishing in a pocket for a light linen handkerchief with which to wipe his face. "Why don't you each tell me the easiest and hardest things you've found so far with your new lives?"

Once D'tri straightens again, the modicum of elegance the practised bow required leaves him immediately. Back to a slumped posture that speaks more of having been more exhausted lately than in any turn prior, but grinning brightly nonetheless. "Sisters, G'deon," He leans slightly closer now, yet refuses to unhook his arm from his sibling - meaning she'd better see the pull come before it does, or get yanked along, "are always wrong." As for the question? He pauses on his, expression frozen, as though he would, perhaps, like Cerise to answer first. But Chorzeczoyth waits for no man (or woman!), and with a few more excitable clicks leaving his throat, he's decided to circle the older bronze's head. Like it's so big he wouldn't know where to START to investigate it. Perhaps as a result of all this curiosity, D'tri's hands tighten steadily into fists.

No applause? Not even mocking applause? Cerise's expression shows no sign of disappointment, but there is a touch of surprise there as she rises. Young woman and young dragon both tilt their heads as they study the gentleman before them; Nylanth's inspection is left in the capable talons of Chorzwhatsith. "We've a liniment for that, sir. Sore backs. Sore muscles. If you care to try it. Was our sister's own recipe, aye?" The yank and subsequent swat aimed at D'tri's arm is as much for the remark about sisters as it is for, "Sir, Dimi. Everyone's sir to us, even the ladies. Mind yourself." But scolding is short-lived, after a glance at his expression, and her smile (with dimples!) reappears when she looks to G'deon again. "Easiest is likely bunking with a multitude, sir, for we've always been accustomed. But hardest…perhaps you might have some advice for those that find coping with an infant beast in one's head? An…energetic and headstrong infant beast?"

The poker face that morphed into a flat look is now looking steadily more unimpressed as G'deon continues to watch the two, leaving Nylanth to his own study of the dragon halves, though there is an added bonus frown when Cerise and Jiamoth tilt their heads. He takes a deep breath as Cerise asks her question, giving him time to school his expression back to something a little more relaxed. A little. "Both Nylanth and I can attempt to help with such hurdles," he answers, voice now a lower-than-usual rumble. "However." His gaze cuts from sister to brother, then back again. "Should the two of you ever attempt to greet a high-ranking person in such a way again, there will be consequences. This is your warning. We are not familiar with each other. We are not family. I am here to help your class learn how to protect Pern, and hopefully not kill yourself or each other in the process." He straightens his shoulders, expression relaxing slightly more. "So. Discipline and respect, weyrlings. It applies to all aspects of your life right now. Understood?"

How D'tri aches to say something. From the moment the new tone starts up and word 'however' reaches his ears, he can be seen (by those who would care enough to look) to hold his breath. Suddenly standing oh so perfectly still. His jaw tenses, but his grin remains, straight at G'deon. He's trying. He really is. For a little while. Not that the next thing he does will probably do much in the ways of showing that he's trying — he just bursts out laughing. Breathy chuckles that border on the maniacal in the way that he attempts to hold them back but just simply fails. Grinning like an idiot. "Oh no—" He squeaks, perhaps the best example Pern has ever seen of a person who does not know how to deal with the face of authority, and is oh so aware of it, "oh no Cerise help."

Reading G'deon's body language is not unlike learning to read the weather by living in the path of frequent hurricanes- it's so easy to see the storm coming their way. That ease is all the cue Cerise needs to snap into an actor's immaculate portrayal of upright military bearing. Her shoulders go back, her chin goes up and her eyes go distant, a posture imitated soon enough by Jiamoth at her side. A hint of yellow seeps into spinning aqua and the forks that decorate the tip of the green's tail flick back and forth, back and forth, as she stares past the man. Maybe, just maybe it will help lessen some of the impact of D'tri's poor behavior? A muscle in her jaw bunches and jumps as her sibling does what he does best. "Aye, sir," the human half says, punctuated with a chuff from Jiamoth- and the first appearance of autumn orange in her eyes. "Please forgive us, sir, the strain's been getting to us, y'see."

For the briefest moment, Cerise and D'tri might see something from G'deon that few have: a single moment of fury. His stormy look darkens his eyes still further, jaw muscles hardening, and a frown tugging his usual laugh lines into something very different. Does he buy Cerise's excuse for the two of them? Unknown. He finally takes a quick, deep breath, and like that, the fury has disappeared. Or more likely, retreated. "It is just one more thing to work on," he informs them, though D'tri gets a last, hard look. "There will be strain enough in a very short while. Best learn to control yourselves now." He continues to stand there for a moment, just studying them, but Nylanth has risen to his feet again, dark head angled toward Chorzeczoyth for a last moment before he carefully begins turning, making sure of every step. A moment later, G'deon dismisses the two with a nod of his head. "Enjoy your evening, weyrlings." They just might have dodged a bullet, going by his tone, but he does not hesitate in his route away from the training grounds.

For a moment, it seems like Chorzeczoyth will follow right after Nylanth, like a stray pup. But a few seconds after he starts moving right along with the carefully turning and much larger bronze, he stops dead in his tracks. Someone or something else has already managed to draw his attention away, and he's bounding off toward Jiamoth this time. D'tri is not quite so scatterbrained, taking great care to siiidestep just in the right direction to keep Cerise between him and G'deon, as the older man departs. His grin does not suffer, though whether or not he actually caught the tiny sign of fury remains an unspoken matter. Only when G'deon is deemed out of earshot does he appear to relax a little, though laughter stays dripping off of his words as he elbows his sister again. "… Well, I think he liked you."

Jiamoth isn't quite sure of what to make of a bounding Chorzeczoyth, especially now that the size difference between the pair has become more substantial. Orange fades to yellow, yellow to an uncertain pale green- but after a glance from Cerise, she turns tail to romp away from the bronze, making certain to maintain only enough distance ahead that he will feel he's just about to catch her. In her absence, Cerise aims a knuckly smack to her brother's bicep. "You think? I think I made him decide I was bad at this, right along with you. Shaffit, Dimi. You know they can ground you, aye? No flying. No graduation. You'll be a weyrling forever if you don't get your act together, I can't cover for you always," she snaps, exasperated. "Maybe try helping me out the way I help you, huh?" And on that note, she turns on her heel and proceeds back into the barracks, leaving the dragons to their games and her brother to his shame.

As though he wasn't expecting an actual response from his sister, D'tri's grin fades almost immediately when knuckles hit arm. "Oooww!" Yet… that's the only thing he says until Cerise is already up and walking. Having grabbed hold of his arm, he watches his sister go with a look of hurt. Hurt why, and whether or not it is completely fabricated? Shall remain a mystery. "Ground me?" He says this quiet enough for Cerise to possibly miss, and as though he realises this, he follows it up with a much louder, much more defiant, "HA! THEY CAN TRY!" Wth that, however, he's done. Eyes darting over Cerise first, following her movements, and then forcibly switching to Jiamoth and Chorzeczoyth both. He seems content to watch them for a while, arms crossed over his chest, though his grin makes no return for the entirety of the time Chorzeczoyth gives barrel-chested chase. Until suddenly, D'tri simply turns, and walks. "… Come on, rustbucket. We're going to the beach."

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