====October 25, 2013
====Cerise, L'ri, Cignalusath, Jiamoth
====Rain + stumpy legs = oops!

Who Cerise, L'ri, Cignalusath, Jiamoth
What Rain + stumpy legs = oops!
When There are 0 turns, 10 months and 21 days until the 12th pass.
Where Training Grounds, 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.

-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 2:31 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 10 months and 21 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 95 degrees. It is current storming day 3

No rest for the wicked, come rain, show or shine! That means even though the skies have been doing their very best to drown the Weyr in the past three days, there are still chores for growing weyrlings to attend to. In this case, given the way high humidity affects the stench of poo in the barracks, Cerise is seeing to this first. Looking not a little like a pond-dipped cat, shortened hair plastered to her cheeks and uniform soaked through, she trundles a heavily laden wheelbarrow across the grounds, away from the barracks and towards the middens pile that will have to be wheeled elsewhere once it's slightly less muddy. In her wake comes the low-slung and fluffy creature that is Jiamoth. The water coursing over already pale hide has lent her silver highlights and if she minds the constant downpour it shows not at all: wings are out to feel the rain coursing over them, her head is up and her maw is wide open to catch the drops on a dainty green tongue.

The sound of wings comes suddenly from above, but given the rain and cloud cover, no light shines through wings to reveal color or identity. Until the source of flight is unveiled when bronzen Cignalusath lands gracefully right in the middle of a muddy water puddle. The bronze could almost seem to be smug at the splash and the annoyed noise that follows from the young man riding him, but his attention turns quickly to the little green nearby, crooning a fond hello. L'ri is quick to dismount, although he does attempt to avoid the worst of the puddle. Something hidden underneath his riding jacket is adjusted slightly to prevent getting soaked, and spotting Cerise, he grins wryly. "Weyrling. How are the two of you doing?" It's something he asks each weyrling every day; and depending on the pair, sometimes twice a day.

Jiamoth senses that Cignalusath is a carefully restrained bonfire, smoky and hissing even though the rain cannot truly touch it's flames. There's an avian screech from high above within his mind, and a pop of wood. The fire shifts a little, the warmth spreading to brush the edges of Jiamoth's mind. « Jiamoth. » He does not invade, merely lingers at the edges. But he's watching. He's always watching.

Have you ever tried to salute with a full to overflowing wheelbarrow of shite in your hands? It's hard. Cerise might have a strong build for a young woman but even she's hard-pressed to keep the barrow from tilting and tipping as the landing bronze not only sends water everywhere, but also introduces an authority figure to the area! She tenses up, straaaains against the barrow's desire to go over and finally rights it carefully before easing it down. That grin L'ri is giving her? It's eyed with the sort of look that says 'I know what you're up to'. "Sir," she goes on, straightening into better posture and pressing fingertips to brow to salute the young man. Without thinking about it, Jiamoth performs the same function, wing-thumb swept up to knobby brow before she breaks ranks to go trundling on towards Cignalusath. "We're wet, sir."

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth happens to adore warmth! The shriek might send her skittering away but all too quickly the heat ripples around the core that is observant bronze is invaded with a flurry of silken ribbons, in a wealth of different shades- some that might not even be //real colors, but kept because she finds them pretty. Edges? She doesn't keep edges. « Cignalusath! Have you come to play? Show me how you splash so well! I should like to know how to do that, the boys have been terrible lately. » »//

L'ri has surely been in that position before - and considering that his lifemate is not quite two turns yet, it hasn't even been that long ago that he was. The look Cerise gives him is met with one of (fake) innocence. 'Who, me?' "I can see that." L'ri replies with that same grin still in place. "So'm I." He takes a few steps closer, seemingly unbothered by the smell of shite (or maybe he just has a REALLY good poker face), and turns to watch Cignalusath with Jiamoth. "Y'two still adapting well? Any concerns or anythin'?" Because such things are important, and he takes nannying the babies very seriously. His dad would be so proud.

Jiamoth senses Cignalusath acknowledges her skittering away because of the avian, and as such it disappears. The ribbons are carassed by the flames, but not burned or even scortched. Cignalusath chooses what he'll burn, and such pretty ribbons are worthy of remaining unharmed. His mind is welcoming to hers, although purposefully reserved. Even his passionate nature is carefully under control, less it alarm the baby dragons. « I cannot teach you how to splash like I do, little one. » Pop, spark, crack. « That will have to wait until you are older. But a good //hop will do just as well against the boys. » Another breath of warmth flows through their connection, stirred by the colorful ribbons.//

Cerise resigns herself to standing here in the pouring rain because boys. Or just 'boy'. But. She'll deal with it, even managing a somewhat graceful parade rest when L'ri comes up all in her bidness to stand beside. It's a perfectly militant look, until she poofs out her lips to try to blow a sodden lock of hair from her eyes. That doesn't work. "Concerns?" A novel idea and one she considers only briefly before shaking her head, as Jiamoth does the same to dislodge water from her nostrils. "None at all, sir. I'd say we're having the easiest time of it, to be honest. All that worrying and fretting and telling Th'seus his eggs were spoiled, and I came out of it with the sweetheart, aye? Just goes to show." Something.

The little green is doing her best to hop, in the meantime. Being a low-rider means Jia has some difficulty with getting air time, and solves the problem by rearing back. One rear! And a baby sploosh wets the bronze's talons. Two rear! Again she spatters him. Three rear! Over she goes with a squawk, courtesy of a little too much oomph in the forequarters.

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth's alarm is short-lived, though while it is there, her mind's just a puddle of tangled silk and a frantic multi-voiced whispering in the background. People //talk, you see. But when she recovers, tendrils thrown out again to latch onto Cignalusath's mind, amusement comes bubbling up, ticklish as champagne bubbles under the nose. « …perhaps I should just ignore them. » »//

"I'd heard the eggs were particularly vicious by and large.." L'ri comments with a little shake of his head. "Every clutch is different - as I'm sure you noticed, with you standing for a couple'f them." But then Jiamoth falls over, and L'ri's grin disappears. But there's no signs of distress other than temporary alarm - as Cignalusath is quick enough to tell him, and he relaxes a hair. "Finish up with that, and we'll make sure she didn't do anything more than fall over." Baby dragons, they're so fragile you know. He doesn't even wait for an answer this time, instead heading straight over to Jiamoth and Cignalusath. Perhaps he's worrying unnecessarily - if he's even worrying.

Getting splashed by baby dragons is amusing if nothing else - especially since their splashes can't reach far. But then Jiamoth falls. Cignalusath is right there, but he waits to check her until she's righted herself on her own. And then snort lightly.

Jiamoth senses Cignalusath is a constant source of warmth through her alarm and past when it ends. « Perhaps you should. » He acknowledges with a spark of amusement of his own. Perhaps it's because of the ticklish feeling of her own amusement, or simply because she seems amused herself. « You and yours should get back inside soon. » Because it's //wet out here.//

Much flailing ensues. It is not unlike a turtle getting trapped on its back, what with the wings outstretched and in the way, and the squat legs, and the round, thick belly ensuring that Jiamoth's center of gravity finds this situation hilarious. On the bright side, she's found a far more effective method for splashing as her little tail whips and snakes over the ground, sending waves of water ahead of it. Her light-hearted burbling is easily translated: Halp. Haaaaalp. How do I legs!

Cerise would already be over there, if she weren't made to hesitate by L'ri's instructions. Finish up! What? No! Except it was technically an order and Jiamoth is more amused than concerned. So the weyrling hastens to lift the wheelbarrow again, speeding it over to dump its contents on the middens, before abandoning it to rush after the bronzerider. By the time she gets there, Jiamoth is simply lying still and observing the proceedings upside down. Halp. "…no, not very graceful at all but don't worry, I don't think he'll tell. Here, tuck your wing in, lovey, and we can roll you."

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth ripples in and out, each resurgence of presence accompanied with a puff of glitter, a handful of confetti. « Ah, yes, that had been the plan. //Not a game I care to repeat but you know… » There she goes again, only to reappear with a high girlish tremor of amusement. « She's completely forgotten about the rain. Or had, until I reminded her. » »//

L'ri is already there by the time Cerise joins him, and half smiles at her spoken instructions to her lifemate. "Cig won't tell. Nor will I." He promises the little green, and then glances at Cerise. "Ready?" He'll pull, she can push, and that way both sides are ensuring that the little dragon doesn't accidentally hurt something while she's getting righted. He probably doesn't mean it as a 'I'm a guy so I'm stronger' thing, but well…he's the more experienced rider, in this case, and therefore presumably stronger, too! "Be careful'f her wings's you push her." Not because they're particularly fragile, of course. "One, two…"

Jiamoth senses Cignalusath is a puff of smoky warmth, even as the fire causes the glitter to sparkle. « In time, you will learn how to roll over without help. » It's meant to be reassuring, but well. « Our humans are easily distracted from such things. It's our duty to remind them. » A word of advice from older to younger?

"Three!" Cerise is totally behind this plan. Jiamoth might not be bothered- perhaps a little embarrassed at so unladylike a pose but still mostly finding it funny- but her own worry lingers. Just a hint of it. So she'll follow L'ri's instructions to the letter, and take especial care of the green's wing as she helps muscle her over it into a position where little talons can scrabble at the rain-heavy earth. Blessed terra firma! She flutes a victory note while ever so carefully tucking wings, tail and neck all in to avoid knocking into any of the people present. "Faranth…you're heavier than a pony now, little miss. And a thank you for your rescuer, aye?" Thus, whirling eyes settle upon the bronzerider and a very abashed look is offered as Jiamoth warbles a not-quite-words thank you. The up and down intonation is right, at least!

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth puffs back at him, fanning the banked flames. « That's what you always say! In time, in time, » she teases, « but see how my dignity suffers //now? » »//

L'ri flashes a little smile at Jiamoth's thank you, and pats a headknob lightly. "Anytime, lil'one. Cerise, is she complaining of any pain or stiffness?" While he's asking this, he's eying the little green for any signs of trauma - but dragonhide is tough. At least she's upright now, and that in itself is half the battle won! "Cig, next time save the splashing lessons, a'ight?" Cignalusath warbles sheepishly, watching the three of them closely. And staying exactly where he is, so he doesn't cause anyone else to end up falling down.

Jiamoth senses Cignalusath flares a little, the flames becoming more like those of a growing fire. « But you have much growing yet to do. » She may have been teasing, but Cignalusath is all seriousness. « By the time you are able, your dignity will be repaired and more brilliant than ever before. » The warmth of his mind is confident of this at the moment, if nothing else.

"Just her pride, she's claiming." Note that it's Cerise who begins to perform a little stretching exercise, rolling her shoulders back and turning her wrists, with Jiamoth half a beat behind her. Wings are extended- cautiously, so as not to bump L'ri- then lift and fall as the green gives a lumpy shrug. "Aye, no harm done. Fear not, brave Cignalusath," the human half of the pairing declares for the bronze's benefit, though he's likely to miss her wink. "No infants hurt on your watch. Suppose I should get her back inside, eh?" Though, given the way she's plucking at her uniform blouse, that suggestion is more for her benefit.

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth would so tweak his nose if she could. If only to chase away the sheepishness, the earnest warmth that makes him so //serious. « And then you will be in for it. » >//

"Good. Aye, inside. Don't need y'catching a cold or somethin'." L'ri is satisfied that Jiamoth is fine, and adjusts his jacket a little. "'Ve something t'drop off t'Ja'kai anyway, so I'll walk y'in." He probably should be getting inside anyway; he has reports to make likely, and would be remiss reporting this little incident so that the others keep a close eye on Jiamoth as well. "I'll see ye inside." A jaunty nod is his dismissal, and quick steps that ignore the water splashing upon his already very wet self make their way in to the Barracks. After his lifemate begins his depart, Cignalusath croons at Cerise and her green lifemate. He settles more in the puddle, perhaps enjoying causing a mess L'ri will have to clean up later. Mmmm, mud.

Jiamoth senses Cignalusath thinks « Sparking embers carry on a dainty breeze, only to fizzle out just before touching ground. « When that day comes, little one.. » A promise, or as much of one as the bronze will admit to! Perhaps what he means is that when that day comes, Jiamoth will see how passionate and fiery Cignalusath truly is; the same qualities he keeps restrained while around young weyrlings lest they become frightened because of them. »

"Pft, like I ever get sick." Which means it's bound to happen now! Cerise cares not! She tweaks at the little green's velvety wing to summon her away from pretending fierce faces at Cignalusath. "C'mon then, Jia, let's get you dried and your oil touched up, aye? All that hard work done for a wallow in wet sand so you can bat your lids at some big strong boy," she says, though scolding soon turns to laughing at some unheard quip and the green is surging ahead, intent on reaching the barracks as fast her chubby little legs will carry her.

Jiamoth thinks to you, « I bespoke Cignalusath with: Jiamoth has no idea what she's just promised but there's amusement bubbling over still, and a host of giggling that follows in her wake as she takes her leave of the simmering bronze. »

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