==== October 18, 2013
====Cerise, D'tri
==== After Chorzeczoyth sows chaos in the Barracks, the siblings regroup to compare notes.

Who Cerise, D'tri
What After Chorzeczoyth sows chaos in the Barracks, the siblings regroup to compare notes.
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
Where Weyrling Barracks, Southern Weyr

cerise16.jpg dimitri4.jpg


weyrling_barracks.jpg

Weyrling Barracks
Natural entropy lies restrained by sheer force of will within the chaotic spiral of Southern's weyrling-barracks. The large entry hollows out into an immense common area at the front of the barracks, where sustenance can be procured for both sides of the lifebond: tables are typically set out with at least the trimmings for sandwiches, and often carcasses lie in the hollowed pit for fresh weyrlings to carve chunks of meat for their new lifemates. Beyond, the couches are set within a U-shape around a long pool, spring-fed, large enough to bathe growing dragons.
Heavy tapestries line the stone walls towards the rear of the barracks, while space is at a premium towards the front: shelves and pegs hold leathers and tools, books and useful trinkets of the dragonriding trade. The narrow-point of the U branches into two hallways: one for the candidate barracks, and one for the weyrlingmaster's office.


-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 1:44 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 11 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 98 degrees. It is heavily overcast.


Not long after D’tri and Chorwhatsith’s departure from the common area, Cerise and Jiamoth come searching. How hard can it be to find their siblings? Likely not hard, they just have to follow the wreckage, both visible and audible. For her part, Jiamoth is likely leaning closer to naptime than not, and if it weren’t for Cerise carrying the green across her shoulders- like a silver stole- it’s likely her tiny legs would not be able to manage this trek. But there she is! Faceted eyes lazily half-lidded, whirling a contented tropical blue of mingled contentment and curiosity. Likewise, her human counterpart shows mixed emotions. Hers are primary amusement and maybe a little concern- this could well be the first time Dimitri has ever been responsible for another life. That’s gotta be nervewracking, right? So it is that her fluffy head- curls springier now that they’ve been trimmed short to her shoulders- pokes around the corner of his couch. “…you alive?”

"Blleeeaaahhh." This is the response Cerise gets, oh so eloquently evicted from her brother's mouth. He's still a little oily, but seems to care very little for how much he's rubbing off on anything. Having, from the looks of it, just sort of collapsed and sprawled out on his belly, the moment he got here. "I need to make a shopping list. Now that I can write. Leash. Cage. Earplugs. Personal assistant." And what's causing him to list these items off on his fingers, just ahead of his face? Chorzeczoyth, his front half perched atop (or rather, unceremoniously piled over) a big, pink pillow. Also now a little oily. He stares so contently, oh so unassumingly at his new visitors with blues swirling through his eyes. Then yawning, wiiide open, followed by a soft crrkt-noise. Dimitri— D'tri just… stares at the opening maw, then motions wildly at the pillow. "I don't even know where he got that."

“Personal assistant?” That’s what stood out to Cerise, and pulls some good-natured snickering from her. “Didn’t take you long to get the bronzer big head there, brother mine. Shouldn’t count your weyr until it’s assigned, y’know. Hey, Chorzeczoyth. Lendai been to visit?” That’s just good manners, acknowledging the yawning bronze as she steps inside and then proceeds to collapse without ceremony beside her brother. A quick tilt and she’s allowing Jiamoth to slither from her shoulders. For now, the bronze matches his sister in size and she takes full advantage as she ambles over like a determined Roomba, continuing on from floor to pillow and over the male dragon before flopping down like a pale green blanket of squishiness. Oiling by osmosis.

Her mental touch is rather more delicate, a flurry of silk ribbons and sparkling confetti drifting down from above. « Your boy makes the funniest noises. »

D'tri groans, and continues to just lie there, like a corpse. A corpse very unenthusiastically prodding at his sister's side, now. 'Cause. Somehow he manages to glare at the two dragonets before him, even if he isn't particularly putting any effort into an expression. Must be the eyebrows. "Bronze." Okay, now those eyebrows dip down, as he solemnly announces, "I was going to drink myself silly after the stupid hatching." Meanwhile, a thing! A green thing. Chorzeczoyth wriggles this way and that in order to remain comfortable on the pillow, though he appears to refuse an answer to Cerise's question. One wing escapes from him to splay out besides. And then— he just can't help himself. When a wing that isn't his comes into view… his beak-like snout opens just a little, to slooowly reach for it. Grab on. Maybe give it an experimental, tiny tug of his head.

Perhaps as a distraction, a cold wave reaches back to Jiamoth's mind, neither giving nor taking, but exposing a patch of bare, rocky lakeshore. Pebbles collecting and then grinding down against a larger whole as the water recedes. Somewhere among it all is a grumble of information, eagerly dispersed. « He misses a wagon. »

Cerise swats the prodding away, where Jiamothi is more proactive. When her wing is seized, she immediately applies the tip of her own beak-like snout to the top of her sibling’s head. TAP! It’s the only pointy, non-squishy, damage-causing part she possesses and the message is clear: Quiddit. « Wagon! Like this wagon? » Trust that she’s already plumbed Cerise’s memory and is now able to present the wagon’s interior, in all of its remembered glory- though the green is inclined to make the colors a little more vibrant, the decorations a little more glamourous.

“Did you eat, at least?” Cerise wants to know. She leans back on her hands and tips one foot back and forth, keeping an idle eye on the bebbies. “Jia was trying to give her breakfast away.” Conversations. They’re kind of hard when you’re operating on three hours of sleep snatched at a go.

As soon as the wagon flows over into Chorzeczoyth's mind, flecks of light grey intrude upon the image. They do little to dull the vibrancy, but cling to it all the same. « Like that wagon! » The tap to his head seems barely noticed, but his attention has been successfully drawn away. To that wagon, and what might lie beyond.

"I can't tell if it's my stomach that's full, or his. How fucked up is that?" The last sentence is more incredulous, Bitran-laced chuckles than properly spoken words. D'tri might have a new name but he's showing his roots as easily as ever, here in the relative quiet. Or perhaps BECAUSE he has a new name. Does this no longer make him a performer? He rolls onto his side, then his back. So he can pat pat his stomach! It doesn't much seem to solve the mystery of who ate what, however, and he turns his head to look at his sister again. "He stole three knives before I could think to just steal someone else's meat cuttings. THREE. I don't know where they went. They could be anywhere!" UP go both his eyebrows and his arms, as though the missing knives may fall down from the ceiling at any point. After his arms fall back down, though, he gives his sister a look. A pointed sort of look. Like he might be looking for an answer to something he doesn't want to ask. Like HOW ARE YOU, PERSON I CARE ABOUT. 'S very hard to ask these things.

Check it: Cerise looks up at the ceiling just in case. “That’s pretty fucked up,” she says slowly, though whether it’s about the knives or the empathetic stomachs is hard to say. After a minute, it becomes easier to tell: there’s a smile tugging at her lips, strong enough that she rolls them in under and over her teeth to keep from laughing. Why? Cuz Dimi’s got himself a klepto dragon, that’s why. Biting her lips doesn’t help, either. Soon the urge to laugh has upgraded to shaking shoulders and she’s completely unable to engage in the slightly awkward feels talk that her brother is actually inviting for once, damn it.

Fortunately, she has a Jiamoth to help out, here. See that mental wagon? Somehow, between one breath and a next, the walls have been populated by empty-eyed masks. They’re all laughing. But she’s being complimentary when she says, « She thinks your boy deserves you very much, it is so good you picked him. It makes her happy. »

From one inability to say something to the next — for a good amount of seconds, Dimitri just lies there. Watching his sister laugh… until he can no longer keep a straight face. But even then he doesn't laugh with her. He just pushes himself up to sit and watch her, a grin slowly spreading across his features. "We are so far away from home," he exclaims, with a slightly off-kilter ring of slight madness to it, "and they can't kick us out anymore. So… we're staying? Me with my—" He looks to the side, just in time to see Chorzeczoyth finally laying his head down to rest, "filthy, thievin' rustbucket of a bronze and you with your… green." Ever so briefly he pulls a face. Nose up in the air, so exaggerated in his tone of mockery that he might as well be back on stage. The grin he can't fight back sort of ruins it, on top of that.

Chorzeczoyth himself succumbs finally to the warmth, comfort and company of others. Inside that remembered wagon, decay suddenly spreads like a new coat of paint along the wood. Just when it looks like it may give, cracks fill up with pale greens and mossy leaves to keep it all together. It's all the response he's willing to part with, for the time being.

Cerise can’t not smile, can’t not laugh- and Jiamoth is taking full responsibility for that. There’s an undercurrent of fizzy ticklishness that radiates from the little green’s mind, even as she settles into a comfortable doze with Chorzeczoyth as her mattress. How she can find that comfortable is beyond reckoning but apparently, she does! And, even in that restful state, the gigglishness persists- as does Cerise’s. Normally she’d slap a more somber expression on once she notices Dimitri noticing this, but instead, she just joins him in a dopey grin.

“I think we kind of have to now, aye. At least until they’ve wings enough to fly and then we can go anywhere,” she says in a tone that suggests ‘imagine that!’. “Total freedom.” Except for that pesky Thread thing but there’s no way thoughts of Thread are getting through the happy barrier erected by her (nose crinkle) greeeeen. “…didn’t think I’d ever see you chasing around after a baby.”

The notion of freedom brings still added cheer back to the human of the two brothers present. Even when he adds soon after the mention of babies, "I'm not chasing after anything." He leans back, hand planted behind him, eyes half-lidded— totally not bothered by this dragonbaby thing. Nope. Not weird at all. Rollin' with it just fine. Clearly the fact that he promptly starts a bit of a ramble proves this. CLEARLY. "And you think I did? I'd have thought knocking up a girl would be more likely, right, and both of us know I would have fled far to the hills if that happened. Do you remember how much of a pain we were? 'Least you Impressed as well, else I'd've been out there for nothin'. Well, nothin' and a Chorz," Cue a flicker of movement from the aforementioned bronze dragonet's tail, which appears to fail to catch D'tri's attention despite him almost thoughtlessly amending a moment later, "—eczoyth."

“Uh huh, what was that not fifteen minutes ago? You were just running around because you felt like it? Needed the exercise?” Now that the bebbies are at rest, Cerise decides to buy in as well. So she stretches out and bam, Dimi’s knee is stolen for use as a pillow. Bony pillow though it must be; Jiamoth is being a bad influence. She laces her fingers over her belly and closes her eyes. “I knew you would,” she comments, “just didn’t think it’d be from that egg. I didn’t even look twice at the one Jia came from, either. Li’l fuckers, messing with our heads.” One eye cracks open. “…not you, sweets.”

"You know me, I need to keep moving." Arms a-flailing wildly about for a moment like it's helping him prove that point, D'tri's grin ends up gaining some familiar smarm. Clearly all one needs to keep from what was probably some amount of internal fussing is one's sister. "Helps me keep lookin' good. For the ladies." This last word has him peering about, just in case there's any of said ladies about. When he continues, his tone is far too light for complete sincerity, "Well. I wish you'd told me I would. I'd have drained the bottle Nora dug up from the stablemaster's desk the day before. Left myself in the middle of the Candidate barracks floor, dressed in naught but the white knot. Right where they wouldn't want to grab it, but'd have to take it anyway." With this, he ends up thudding onto his back again, quite content with this mental image he's created for himself. Knee pillow gives a twitch, but otherwise behaves.

Cerise closes her eyes again, the mirthful yet quirky smile that appears for all of his retorts an echo to the fizzy rumble that emerges from Jiamoth’s throat. And you thought she was sleeping! It’s velvet made sound, and undoubtedly laughter. She appreciates D’tri’s sass anyway. “I had no idea you were sweet on L’ri that way,” the human half muses, after a moment spent likewise picturing that mental image. And, of course, the assistant weyrlingmaster who’d come into the barracks to usher them onto the sands- ain’t no one pretty on that staff to go knot-grabbing, at least none that she knows are to the bronzerider’s taste. “…wait.” Up she sits, braced on a hand and twisting at the waist to eyeball ‘im. “What bottle? Nora?”

Now, this is better. D'tri lying down, oh so relaxed, and Cerise not. He basks in the eyeballing he's earned, his own eyes closing as he soaks it up. MMM. "Yeah, Nora!" He sounds almost surprised, but in a way that Cerise will have come to recognise as very probably utterly forced. Radiating confidence! "I guess she just realised I could handle it. That I was man enough for it, you know. So she stole it, and handed it right over. We're becoming fast friends." He lifts his arms to fold them under his head. "I am in there." Whatever that means.

Cue a stirring from little Chorzeczoyth, his head turning eeever so slowly to try and go for green wingtip again. Bite? The sneaky antics hardly suit the sudden sound of a boulder slowly splitting in two that giddily spreads to greenrider and sibling dragonet alike, straight into their brainpans. « He whined until she gave him it. »

Cerise does not even bother pulling on her acting skills for this- she radiates skepticism. She knows what in there means, and combining that with Nora, of all people, just makes her eyebrows go all cattywumpus. “All right, I’m going to…here. Look.” She holds up her hands, index fingers pointed up on each, other fingers curled down. Right finger is wiggled. “This is you,” she explains, holding her right hand waaaaaay over here. Left hand is held much, much higher in the air. “And this is Nora. There’s no-” Aaaa bounder breaking in her head. She twitches, though Jiamoth is more philosophical. It can’t be worse than the glitterball explosions she inflicts on people, right?

But she does draw her wing back just enough to slap Chorz’s beak with the thumb talon. Smack. Sisters, not for eating. « Whining, those are the long high noises he makes, as if something was chewing on him? So noisy, your boy. »

Because…Chorzeczoyth isn’t?

Guess what time it is. Chorzeczoyth, after taking that slap like a champ and lowering his crimson beak halfway into that lovely pink pillow, decides to answer in… 'song'. That is to say, his best attempt at a whine, using all the air he can suck into that weird little barrelchest for a high-pitched eeeEEEEEEEE that does not at all sound like a whine, despite best intentions. It's ended a good amount of seconds later with a throaty whrrr-kh-kh and a kick of freakishly spindly hind leg, swirly-blue eyes and head turned upward as if in stray pride for what he's achieved.

This does not leave D'tri a lot of space to talk, even though he had cracked open an eye to watch Cerise's puppet-less puppetshow. "… That's right." Though a look of sly amusement appears to be aimed at his sister, he then lifts his head enough to look at the noisy bronze instead. "You keep doing that whenever sometimes tries to prove us wrong, yeah? G'boy. See?" NOW his eyes lock onto his sister again, and one of his perfectly charming stage-smiles is summoned. So pleased. "Getting along better already."

This could be considered Jiamoth’s fault, couldn’t it? Had she opted not to “compliment” D’tri, to bring up true noisiness, there’d be no song. The green is already strongly considering discarding her living pillow when he kicks out and lifts his head, proving that this here territory has become less than restful for babies in need of a nap. Still, she has to admit it’s pretty funny and is buzzing with amusement as she rolls off of Chorzeczoyth in a tangle of limbs, tail and wings.

Cerise is not so philosophical about it. Her ear is finely tuned to good sounds. When the bronze assaults them with his “music”, she covers them with her hands and winces. “Better be getting along,” she says, blatantly stealing her brother’s comment and reshuffling it to her purpose. When she stands, her dragon perks up, rocking back and forth before finally HEAVING herself to a this way up stance. Her clutchsib might have been whacked a few times, but it’s unintentional; the flailing can be blamed on an extremely low center of gravity. “C’mon, short stuff,” Cerise instructs her charge, “let’s let the weirdos get some sleep.”

It’s a fond name-calling, honest.

With which D'tri is all too familiar, and it shows in the way he simply lets the back of his head thud back onto upturned arms again, eyes closed. Oh so relaxed, and oh so smugly content. Don't mind the way his eyebrows give a twitch the moment Chorzeczoyth gets clubbed in the head and responds with a new series of dismayed little rattleclicks from his throat. These continue as though in threat of another harsher call until both Cerise and Jiamoth have left his sight.

Several minutes of stillness follow, outside of the noises that reach the two from the rest of the Weyrling barracks. Until dragonbeak chomps into pink pillow, and both it and the bronze end up clumsily flopped against D'tri's side a moment later.

"Chasing after a baby she says," D'tri mutters with a mix of grin and sneer pulling at his lips, while a wing spreads slowly out over his midriff. "You're not a baby. You're a stud."

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