==== November 27th, 2013
==== E'don Cerise
==== If you stop whining, I'll let you sleep with me once… said no one ever. (Except maybe Cerise)

Who E'don Cerise
What If you stop whining, I'll let you sleep with me once… said no one ever. (Except maybe Cerise)
When There are 0 turns, 7 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
Where Feeding Pens, Southern Weyr

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Feeding Pastures
Up the side of the mountain, stone fences mark the lines of the different parts of the feeding pastures. Bovines, woolies, ovines, caprines, herdbeasts; they are all collected here, dotting the hillside in lazy repose to stand stark against the brilliance of the green pastures. Rich, rich grass grows here, fed by the humidity and tropical climate. The sounds here are a blend of bleating, baying, and the thundering of many steps as the different herds move about. Occasionally, the whiff of something foul is carried downwind from the collection of animals that serves as the weyr's food supply.
It is the seventy-fifth day of Autumn and 38 degrees. Steely grey clouds drift across the sky, muting Rukbat's light. The wind has started to pick up more than normal as a light drizzle falls.

Jiamoth might still be drastically petite in comparison to many of her male clutchmates but that translates to some advantages- sharper turns in the air, the ability to cling to walls without falling, less hide to oil and of course, smaller meals. Not that she's at all inclined to eat more often, even to balance out the growth of youth. But watching others? That she can do and it's why, when the bronzeling pair were spotted heading for these pastures, the green couple took off in lazy pursuit. So it's some minutes later when Jia backwings to a tidy landing several meters from E'don's spot in the grass. Cerise isn't wearing her helmet but she has a shawl belted around her waist, its purpose becoming clear as she dismounts and unknots it to drape over her head- if the weather turns misty, she is prepared. "She wanted to provide commentary," the ex-performer says in lieu of greeting as she flops down beside the bronzerider.

And indeed, with her rider settled, Jiamoth curls belly down in the cool grass and lifts her head to watch the bronze shadow that is Qianvaelth at hunt. « Which do you prefer best? » The question comes quietly, the guttering of candles caught in an opened door's breeze, the lift of voices in laughter as they're caught unawares by something delightful.

"That's exactly what Qian would want too." E'don responds back with a lazy sense of cheeriness when Cerise makes her appearance on the ground next to him; the sandwich currently on his right hand is given another bite, and he offers with a polite sense of sharing, the handful of nuts he has in his other. "So she came to provide the conversation to his evening mean, hmm?" The bronze's lazy glide stalls as he finally drops awkwardly onto one of his prey, a blanket like catch that goes for a struggle for longer than is really, well, suave. "How are you then? Coming to hang out and have another one of our weekly disagreements?" The jab is indeed in jest, and he throws a smirk the green rider's way.

«This one.» Come's the belated response of the circling bronze, deepening bass tipped with the crescendo of snapping branches. For a moment, the mind scape is silent, a lull of faunal orchestra that murmurs back to life as Qian's concentration comes back from killing, and to Jiamoth. «It is strong and struggled. It felt it's life important; I will honor it's memory by eating it all.»

"That's what she does best," Cerise points out, shameless in how quickly she reaches out to scavenge not a nut, but half a handful of them. They're scooped from his palm and cupped in hers, one plucked from the pile to toss into her mouth. "Whither goes my lady, so too do I. That's a quote." But it loses a great deal, with the greenrider doing an excellent impression of a chipmunk with a cheek full of nut crumbles. She munches contentedly with an eye kept on the bronze's performance. When he makes his selection and drops so…forcefully out of the sky, a breath huffs out through pursed lips. "Like a boulder from the clouds…mm? Only if you feel like pickin' a fight, aye? I'm too tired for fussing and I still dunno what you were going on about with the last one."

« An excellent way to choose, » Jiamoth offers, approval rich as oak-aged merlot laced through her tones. Of course, there is a ladylike sense of distance imposed during the beastly act of killing. But with Qian's return from that spectacle, so too does she return with a light gust of rose and sandalwood perfume pushed on the winds of a lazy lace fan. « I am rather fond of my life as well, but promise you won't eat me whole if and when I should pass? »

Qainvaelth's wrangling of said herd-beast comes to an end when the bronze pragmatically puts it's heat in his jaws and snaps it clean off. It's a task that causes E'don to give a reflective grimace as he watches, before turning his attention back to Cerise with a skeptical quirk of his brow. "I don't pick fights?but alright, ah, its useless anyway. He's still learning, I suppose? it took us twice as long to get into the air. I'm just glad he's flying." He lets loose a soft chuckle, more at Qian's behavior than Cerise's observation. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They look like they enjoy a bit too much."
«Why would I eat one of my own?» There's an amused rustle of Qian's mindvoice, and the dragon rights himself to begin the messy dismemberment of his dinner, wings splayed. «But if it were to be that I must eat you, I would consider it honorable, indeed.» His resolve on the matter is as sturdy of the oaken boughs of his dells. «I only digest those worthy and strong.»

"You haven't seen Jia eat. There's no napkin large enough but she'd use one all the same, if she could. The mess. I've a fear of what firestone training will be like, and her already taking such a dislike to bad smells and worse stains." Cerise tosses the last of the nuts into her mouth before leaning back on her hands, legs stretched before her and crossed at booted ankles. Score one for flight leathers, to keep the wet grass from soaking through her seat. "Must be having to lift all that bulk," she goes on to say brightly, jerking her chin at the size of him. "Just needed shoulder muscles tough enough to manage aye? And you do pick fights."

« I shouldn't tease you, especially while you dine. Though I am of course flattered. » That flicker of lace and candlelight laughs for Jiamoth. « Even if I would not say I am especially strong. Charming, perhaps? Bright, lively, persistent? »

"I'm not looking forward to that." E'don states earnestly in response to the mention of firestone. Firestone means thread, and thread is the sum of all of the weyrling's fears, not as if this is something the guy would be sharing willingly with Cerise. The sandwich is polished off, and the bronzer begins to wipe sullied hands against the front of his own leathers. "I suppose. By the looks of him, he's only going to get much bigger and more awkward to maneuver." And then there's a side-eye, a mixture of exasperation and indignation in the look he throws sidelong at Cerise. "And you provoke them. Admit it, you enjoy watching me squirm." He sniffs, at the thought. "Is that part of your gender? Relishing in poking us men-folk with a stick?

Qianvaelth's bass echoes with the warmth of turning leaves, his voice dancing with the golden turn of autumnal leaves. «All of those things. We are cut from the same cloth. I am powerful. You are graceful.» There's a pregnant pause, as if the bronze weyrling has forgotten his manners, « You may share of my kill. I do not mind sharing with my brethren.»

"You, me and Dimi, all three. Wouldn't be surprised if everyone was nervous about it." Not that Cerise looks at all nervous- she's probing her teeth with the tip of her tongue, to loosen nut fragments from them. Perhaps not the most attractive of visages, but she did claim tiredness and seems at her ease. Even his accusation doesn't draw more than a glance and a skewed half-smile. "E'don, I'm a woman whose past profession has seen her labeled as whore, Impressed to a dragon who'll rise four or five times a Turn and will likely never see anything approaching respect from the powers that be for both of those facts. If I can make anyone squirm, I'm going to enjoy it, aye? Stop taking it so personal. If you weren't so quick to seize up all the time, might be you could get some pokes in back." See what she did there?

Jiamoth demurs, but gracefully so- just as he's said. « Of I couldn't possibly. I ate just yesterday with Desmeth and if I were to eat again, I would be the most awkward green in all the Weyr in the air. » Is someone listening in to the other conversation? It would seem so!

"When I do that, you threaten to punch me in the face." E'don counters back with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, but the lazy smirk on his face belies the fact that he is in not fact rustled by her assertion. "It's not an either or solution you know? I push your buttons and you push mine." There's a lapse in silence, and the guy seems to weigh some option, to speak or not, before he finally talks again. "You know, just last night I got into a spat with that, trader. Prymelia, you know?" Hands rub against his forearms, "You girls?if you aren't interested, you should just say so." Beat. "Explicitly. Like, write it in the clouds or have it chiseled into the rock face." Mixed signals? The worst! "And you wonder why it gets to me."
Jiamoth's polite refusal seems to be Qianvaelth's green light for devouring the majority of the beast, tipping back a whole leg into his open maw, but he too seems to be wrapped up in the other conversation at hand. «His urges preoccupy his judgement.» The bronze says almost conspiratorially to his sister, the din of fauna peaking in his mossy glen. «Does yours have the same?»

"Maybe I just like pushing buttons," is Cerise's retort. "Y'know, part of your problem is you can't tell when someone's just being nice. You gotta go reading everything else into it. What were you fussing with her for?" Not that she has a firm mental image of who "her" is but the name rings certain bells, and leads to raised eyebrows as she looks at E'don again. "Isn't that the trader girl T'ral's always mooning over? Is she playing both of you?" Now who's reading into things?

« Oh, no. » Breezy, thy name is Jiamoth. Cerise's urges, or lack thereof, are dismissed in a quickening pulse of fan-flicking. « She has a number of other issues but that has never been one of them, that I have been able to tell. Perhaps the opposite, in fact. She thinks a great deal, and acts on only a fraction of it. She has said that your boy's trouble is common in males his age, however? Perhaps he will grow out of it even sooner, to have you providing wiser counsel. »

"Playing? Eeh, I don't know if she was playing," E'don's face scrunches as he tries to pinpoint the exact definition of his relationship with T'ral's love interest. "She tried to kiss me once?well, okay, she almost kissed me, all seductive like. I think she just wanted the attention." The bronze rider sounds almost, sad? Maybe a bit disappointed, but he's waving it off with a flippant flick of his wrist. "Isn't she not one of yours? You were a trader right? Is that something they teach you in trader school?" Oh, well, isn't that a bit condescending on E'don's part? He offers over his handful of nuts one last time before palming the rest into his mouth. "If I hadn't had the chance to sleep with someone, I'd have sworn of women forever by this point."

There's a mutual understanding that there are topics that are discussed, and then others, not so much explored; Qianvaelth's inquiring rustle of dead leaves muffles slightly. «It is an affliction of his design.» The bronze says this deadpan, so certain of the nature of things; like the lifecycle of a forest, from seedling to dead, hollow trunk. « It is something I have no concern with. It is frivolous. But?» There's a quiet reflection before he continues, «I think him competent if those thoughts are soothed. »

"Did she?" For some reason, Cerise's brow has rumpled- not so much skepticism as thoughtful disapproval. "That was kind of a bitch move, aye. Maybe trader folk are different now but I didn't go 'round kissing virgin lads all willy nilly. So screw you very much for makin' generalizations." She's proud of that word: generalizations. It sounds huge. It sounds educated. And she sounds only mildly miffed, which could seem unusual. "Just a tip there, boyo, but it's not gonna help you land a lady if you keep whining about 'em like that right to their faces. You can't just say the first thing that pops into your head. Especially your head."

« But it has its purpose, dear one. Without those urges, we would none of us be here, and it provides brighter sparks amidst all of the grey that we must sometimes endure. Though, if those urges are frustrated, as you say…the poor thing is simply all snarled up, yes? You think he would be better able to focus on what needs focus now, if it were dealt with? » Oh, but doesn't Jiamoth sound reflective, bright as light and color dancing over the surface of a quiet canal.

"Oh well, sorry I haven't taken the distinction into account." E'don drolls back with a deep sigh, "Well then, I guess you're juuust above the rest of them then, eh?" He waves off her suggestion with an annoyed groan, pulling his long legs up towards his body with an audible snort. "So what? I'm just supposed to deal with it? Suffer in silence. Oh ho, no. You lot," He motions in the general sense in Cerise's direction, "enjoy inflicting it. So you can deal with just the bit of whining." He taps his temple with a self-satisfied smile. "And I'm brilliant. And you know it."

There's a thoughtful silence, save for the creaks and groans of shifting trees; Qian seems to be mulling over Jiamoth's words in comfortable silence. And then, in that soft, natural pause, his forests turn with the dappled assertion of light, letting loose the shimmer of purple and gold flashes of light. «Yes.» He confirms, simply. Even physically Qian turns all attention the green with a thump of his tail. He's not one to concoct plans, him. That might be Jia's specialty.

This time it's the dragon who answers first. Jiamoth simply sighs, as if to lament the silliness of boys and their untested hardware. « Perhaps I know a way to help you with this problem then, Qianvaelth. But should I do so, it will require an effort on your behalf. He is so very disrespectful at times. » The implication is left to hang between them as the green bestirs herself, rising into a languid stretch that sees those immense wings unfurled before neat replacement against her back.

It's a signal meant to summon Cerise and summon her it does. She pushes herself to her feet, brushing grass and such off of her leathers. The furrowed brow lingers as she looks at the green- then she too sighs. "You know, E'don, I'll tell you what. If you can keep that fat mouth of yours shut on everything but genuine compliments a time, if you can bring me more than whining and complaints, I'd bed you. If only to keep from having to hear this same string of complaints for the next five Turns until Qian snares his gold, aye?" On that note, she pivots on her heel and makes for her dragon, with the intention of departing via the sky.

"Oh, okay." There's nothing E'don can say that doesn't just sound, startled. Also, skeptical, sarcastic and most of all, self-soothing. He tries to make his voice sound as sarcastic in his reply as possible, "I'll totally take you up on that offer. Totally." Cerise's abilty to ruffle feathers? Still got it, apparently. "I'll be fine on my own, you know!" E'don calls after the retreating green. "No pity fuck necessary." It's a crude, teasing comment, but it's still laced with anxiety. Poor E'don. Poor sorry lout. He'll probably nurse his wounds a while yet out here.

« He is kind at heart.» Qianvaelth's assertion is true as simple facts of the sky being blue and his purpose in fighting thread. « But he must grow into his tact. I will focus my efforts on his self-awareness.» There's the rustle of leaves again, a parting gesture of understanding to his green sibling before the bronze is turning back to his bare bones meal. «Farewell sister. Be well.» And with turn towards evening sun, Qian's forest retreat back to dark.

"More flowers, less obscenities, you dumb git!" This is Cerise's attempt at parting words, the last bit all but lost in the rustle and whoosh of Jiamoth's wings carving the air and sending them skywards.

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