==== October 24, 2013
==== D'tri, Nora
==== Nora is no help where Chorzeczoyth is concerned.

Who D'tri, Nora
What Nora is no help where Chorzeczoyth is concerned.
When There are 0 turns, 10 months and 27 days until the 12th pass.
Where Stables, Southern Weyr

Nora13.png dimitri2.jpg


Rehabilitated, the stone stables of Southern sweep grandly in arches and vaulted ceilings. A half-loft in the back shows openly the hay piled in sweet-scenting mounds. Beneath, broad box stalls house inhabitants safely away from the purview of dragons… nickers and restless stompings fill the air to blend in with hay and runner-sweat and leather: sweet nirvana.

-- On Pern --
It is noon
It is 11:43 AM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 10 months and 27 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 74 degrees. It is current storming day 1

The stables are host to a mixture of noises, this late morning. Firstly there is the pitter-patter sound of a storm outside, dark clouds gathered tightly to douse the land below. To those who don't mind the rain, or those inside, it might be a calming thing. Water brings life, after all, and the white noise the rain brings can work wonders on those with too much on their minds. That is to say, if it weren't for what noises have joined it since a runner came DARTING out of the stables without its rider, a minute or so ago — a CACOPHONY of whinnies, neighs and the clacks of hooves hitting dusty ground comes spilling out of the stables in quick succession. A mess of noises loud enough to not only fill the ears of those inside but to HURT them. "A— ahaha, NO. NO YOU DON'T GET TO." The only voice that rises above it - three guesses, everyone - is D'tri's. Half words and half laughter, he stands just in front of two stall doors, arms spread at his sides. A couple-sevendays-old bronze dragon with decidedly ungraceful but nonetheless long limbs and a wide barrel-chest and a blood-red beak of a snout bounds impatiently up and down in front of him, while several more bystanders just watch with eyes wide, unsure of what to do. Several nearby runners? Well. One can only hope they don't hurt themselves in their panicked thrashing.

This is not so much the kind of weather that Nora likes to deal with while going about her work. It's one thing to have a romp in the rain, but trudging all the way out to the stables? And all to track down that damn stablemaster who never replied to her note? So she put. on. her. boots and she put. on. her. hat and, had she realized that the temperature had dropped by an impressive 30 degrees, she might have put on a jacket as well. But she didn't. And so when she reaches the stable to see a runner racing out the door with no human in sight, it's a cold, wet, shivering Nora who stops in her muddy tracks by the doorway to blink and remember how to breath after almost getting trampled. Wide-eyed, mouth small and agape, rain sluicing off the brim of her hat, she joins the rest of the people in just staring at the antics of the bronze and his 'helpful' rider. Questions start to form on her lips, a couple of 'whu-' shaped words that don't actually find any voice. And eventually a bit of more determined resolve comes back as she zeros in on the weyrling with a sharp shake of her head. "Dimitri!" Line crossed. And where is that damn stablemaster? Someone needs to be fired.

Little bronze Chorzeczoyth lowers his front just one more time in order to bound forward to shove his head right in between outstretched arm and ribcage. It's not meant to push so much as urge, like a hound squeezing its head under its owner's hand for affection - whether D'tri could physically stop the dragon from proceeding into one of the stalls if it really wanted to is, perhaps, doubtful. "Oofh." He breathes, leaning to the side to catch the bronze in a headlock, still grinning from ear to ear when he hears his name being called and looks up. "Heey, NoraaaAaaAA." The reason for her name being dragged out? Is the energetic headshake of the dragon he's still got both arms wrapped around, and a whine of a 'KRAAW' leaving the bronze's throat. Chaos? WHERE? Not here, surely. D'tri's face shows no sign of it.

The click of her teeth could be audible when Nora's jaw snaps shut — if it weren't for the noises of a stable full of runners breathing hard, side-stepping in their stalls, screaming their protest and bumping into walls. She narrows her eyes on the useless onlookers and points them out into the rain, after the runaway that nearly bowled her over. "Go get your fucking runner," she orders them, no joke. And as for D'tri and Chorzeczoyth, don't they look like they're having a good time? And so Nora forces a smile onto her face, a perfectly sweet veneer that matches her eye-daggers not at all. As she starts toward the pair, she also dips to pluck up a riding crop from against the side of a stall, letting it swing lightly from her fingers. "Dimitri," she rather purrs. "Get him the fuck out of the stable." There's a flash of teeth when she's through, a quick bat of lashes and her finger tapping at the handle of that crop.

"Haven't you heard?!" D'tri yelps as a whuff of dragonbreath gets breathed into his face and hair as Chorzeczoyth wriggles out of his headlock and appears to attempt a game of wrestling. "It's D'tri, apparently! 'Cause I'm a Weyrling!" It's said with pride and all, though whether it's real or not remains to be seen - it wouldn't be the first time he's faked that big smile o' his, and he knows how to make 'em look real. "Got one of these and everythi— HEY." 'One of these' being the young dragon, which suddenly loses interest in the stall doors and starts in a prance toward Nora, head high, wings spreading slowly and eyes swirling greenish blue. Her purr is answered with an attempted purr of his own, though it is one considerably less pleasant on the ears — a series of clicks from blood red hooked maw. Hey, at least he came out of the package like that and it doesn't appear to ACTUALLY be blood. The runners might be startled, but they haven't been eaten. Probably. "He likes it here." D'tri, ever helpful, appears to be in the midst of choking back a laugh. TEETH GRITTING.

Nora might just be rallying for something, the way she draws in a nice long breath, the way her smile sharpens as her jaw flexes hard and her fingers tighten on the riding crop. But just before she can unleash whatever it is that she's brewing, summarily ignoring everything that the weyrling has said, that young bronze turns to her to echo his own version of a purr and mimic her snapping jaw. The headwoman blinks at him as her traction slips, her eyes quick to pick over the rusty hide and the crimson snout for the first time. Swallowing whatever her words were going to be, instead she smiles at Chorzeczoyth and tells him, "We have to leave. You can't be here." And just in case there are some questions coming that she can't hear… Why? "Because I said so." Why? "Because all these silly animals are afraid of you." But… "And if you want to chase them around, we have a place just for that. It's very fun." So what he if doesn't actually ask anything at all! She preempts blithely anyway. And so what if he's not actually old enough to muck about in the feeding pens. Nora shoots a 'follow my lead… damnit' look at D'tri. Surely he's familiar with thinking up an angle on the fly.

From the look Chrozeczoyth gives Nora, only one side of his face toward her as he begins to prancehop around her, it might be easy to assume he has not, in fact, ever been told he cannot be here. Maybe that he shouldn't, but that's a different story - at least when it comes to that other half of the still messily linked melting pot of minds. Though it might also be hard to tell who, exactly, is being the worst influence here. After all, D'tri is moving toward the exit already, regardless of his cheerful expression, while the young bronze is taking its sweet time to… circle its newfound prey? Until he slows, and looks to his chosen Weyrling instead, coming to a stop with a flick of his long tail. "… Because we like Nora." Then, however, promptly comes the moment when D'tri's expression falls from amusement into anticipatory DREAD, eyebrows crashing toward one another as Chorzeczoyth turns back to Nora and BOUNCES AT HER, MAW WIDE OPEN.

That hopping and side-eying is probably not the most encouraging thing that ever happened. And Nora might have a delicate look at her, but she's not slow on her feet. However, such things would be much more helpful if she was actually looking at Chorzeczoyth such that she could read the warning signs and put some quick steps into action. But no, she's looking at D'tri, the pressed smile still waiting on her face (and perhaps a little more naturally satisfied when the rider adds his own reason for why Nora should be respected). Of course, the look of dread so dramatically delivered by those eyebrows does clue her in, but a little too late, and she wheels away quite sloppily from the sudden bound of dragon and all those exposed teeth. It's perhaps not really Chorzeczoyth's fault that they catch her forearm, but they rather do a bit, raking in two and a half neat lines across her skin. To her credit, she yelps but doesn't scream, and the moment she regains her footing, the bronze is getting an all-her-might shove, negligible as that probably is. Meanwhile the charging dragon has driven the nearest runner absolutely mad and now he's bucking at the wall beside her. Whatever the damage is, it will have to wait. "Out! Out now!"

If ever there was a real expression on D'tri's face since his time in Southern, this'd be the one — jaw clenched and widened eyes searching both Nora and the bronze as he rushes forward to reach them. If he's joined Nora in telling the offending dragon off, it is strictly being done inside his head rather than out. The shove does little to force Chorzeczoyth back, but the command is more easily heeded — stopping the energetic bronze in his tracks for a few seconds. Long enough for it to zero in on what exactly is on Nora's arm. His attention switches abruptly from what may have been consideration for actually behaving to a thin silver bracelet spied, dangling oh so temptingly. He unfreezes in an instant for a quick SNAP toward it - this time with his pseudo-beak opened only just enough to snag (or miss, or break?) jewelry - before, regardless of success or failure to thieve, turning to bounce AWAY on springly limbs. Only… to find a so-very-focused looking D'tri in his path before momentum can be quelled. "WhoahNONO—" The two collide, only to end up in a pile on the floor a second later, a mess of kicking limbs and whining vocalisations.

More confusion, Chorzeczoyth trying to nip at her bracelet, Nora trying to push him toward the exit, that poor runner going berserk behind her and one of those useless stablehands peeking their head back in to see what new horrors are befalling the stables. As the bronze's teeth snag on Nora's bracelet, her arm is jerked before the fine coiling of metal snaps. He might almost have possession of it for a quick second, as he hops away, but after the collision it's anyone's guess where the thing has gone. By this point, the headwoman has nearly lost her hat, her black dress is all smudged and those lines on her arm are an angry red, even from a distance, and now starting to bleed, but she wobbles toward the mess of limbs, trying to get a sense of which parts need to be unwound in order for everyone to get the heck out of the stables. There might just be a touch of worry in her voice when she says, "Dimtri," but mostly she's just asking for some kind, any kind, of help in putting an end to this insanity.

"I've got — " comes a voice from the pile of rusted bronze and person, its tone stuck on the very border of teeth-grinding frustration and forced lackadaisical cheer, " — it all —" another few kicks unhooks a wing and allows it to fold against the steadily retreating young dragon's side, revealing a scuffed D'tri underneath to finish, "UNDER CONTROL." They get to their feet none too gently, both using one another to lean on or pull themselves back up. After a brief flurry of pushing and shoving, the human of the two straightens — SO STRAIGHT, one arm folded behind his back and everything, look at how perfectly poised he is after his tumbles! Except when he opens his mouth to say something, and his gaze drops briefly down to Nora's arm. And whatever he had on his mind is instead replaced with — "Tits." Then, out too quick for him to think about stopping it from leaving his mouth, "I'm sorry."

Nora's breath is quickened, a flush in her pale cheeks as she stands there waiting to see if rider and dragon can get sorted out. It's only when they disengage that she takes the chance to look down at her arm — the wounds are hardly gushing, but they are bleeding and it probably looks a bit worse than it really is. "Please get out," she says in a hollow voice, even before she lifts her still-startled gaze to D'tri. She barely seems to register his reaction, sniffing a bit as she tries to force her anxious shoulders back down. There's a bit of adrenaline tremble when her hands start to go through the motions of fixing herself, smoothing flyaway hair under her hat, wiping over her face and trying to brush at her dress, all with crimson trickles running down her arm. Her steps start to drift uneasily toward the exit, whether Chorzeczoyth is ready to leave or not.

Chorzeczoyth appears caught in the midst of intentions torn — what trickles into his mind from D'tri shows in an added alertness to his form, but even that cannot stop the bronze from shoving his face down onto the floor and— is he eating something? A sliver of something found, something shiny disappears between the dragon's eager chompers. D'tri, meanwhile, seems to be at a loss for what to do with his arms. Nonchalantly fold them over his chest? No. Flail them around cluelessly? No, that doesn't seem right either. Reach for arm? Definitely not. His nose wrinkles at the superficial wounds caused, and when Nora turns to walk, he follows without thought, stepping just ahead of her to walk backwards. "How does— " Though he forces a grin back on his face, both it and his tone of voice point more toward panic than confidence. He loses control of his eyebrows as well, and they twitch uncertainly up and down as different thoughts pop in and out of his mind. "Do dragons— I mean, how do you— … you're not POISONOUS, ARE YOU?" For this he turns his gaze back to Chorzeczoyth, who is now following along considerably less energetically than he'd been before, his head low to the ground. Eyes swirling a mix of blue and, more prominently, a rusted orange to match his hide.

The rent arm is held rather awkwardly, but the other shows none of D'tri's doubts. Nora just reaches out as he backpedals in front of her, grabbing at a small fistful of his shirt. She meets his gaze with a furrow creased between her own far-finer brows, a steadiness in her eyes that tries, likely in vain, to instill a little focus or to bore through his guise of carelessness. "Please." Because they’re still here in the stables, aren’t they, with Chorzeczoyth eating something off the ground and the runners still whinnying and shuddering in their stalls. “Get him outside first.” Before any other ‘distractions’. Herself, that’s where she’s going — to step out into the rain and lean against the outer wall so she can catch her breath and look down at the streaks of red that run more freely wherever the water hits them.

"Not poisonous, then." This… for a good amount of seconds, is the only thing D'tri appears to be able to settle on. He's so used to his shirt being grabbed onto (take that as you will, ladies - but no, really, that thing might as well have 'grab if reasoning fails to work' written across it) that he barely even registers it. But not poisonous? He can focus on that. That's a good thing. It brings some composure back to him, chin lifting and shoulders pushing back as he draws in as deep a breath as he can manage while his gait slows and his eyebrows knit. Then, he's after Nora again. With— a laugh that he doesn't appear able to stop, there in the rain, eyes darting between Nora's face and her arm as he approaches her. "Alright. So. Few scratches. He didn't mean to." Chorzeczoyth appears to have little interest in apologies, and the moment he steps outside is when his bulky chest swells— until his upturned head manages to catch a few raindrops in his nostrils and the bronze's lungs are promptly emptied with a violent SNEEZE that sends his wings popping outward. Aaa. He gives his head a few good shakes in response to the still unfamiliar sensation. "Not like the— the monster with babies for hands." D'tri continues with a poorly conjured but wide grin, after looking very briefly over his shoulder, "Ever seen that one? Babies? For hands? Thing'll eat you alive as soon as look at you." This… this may be one of Ellen's stories. But he sounds convinced.

There might just be a shadow of disgust that passes over Nora's features before she closes her eyes to block out the knitted eyebrows and, with any luck, the too-ready excuses and the sneezing dragon. Any other time that pop of wings might be entertaining, but at the moment, she's not looking at all entertained nor easily mollified by baby-hand monsters. "You know there's nothing I can do for you," she says as she looks down at the watery red that drips across her skin. "Everyone in the stables…" They were all witnesses to the havoc Chorzeczoyth has wrought — at least the upset runners and potentially damaged stalls, if not the damaged headwoman. Her expression is cool when her attention lifts to D'tri again. "I'd tell you to get him back to the barracks, but…" The chill in her laugh is interrupted by a shiver and she pulls herself away from the wall to turn toward the bowl.

Making excuses isn't D'tri's territory (his sister's more like it!), and it shows in the baffled way he responds to that look of possible disgust, standing still to watch her. Wait, no good? No? Babies-for-hands-monster distraction not good enough? Um. UM. "Surely—" Nope, that's all he manages, one hand lifted in front of him as though he's about to make a very good point. And then just doesn't. The remainders of a lopsided grin stay on his face, clueless and a poor fit against his attempt at confident posture. "… But…? Nora?" Meanwhile, who's having fun in the rain? Chorzeczoyth is! His outspread wings catch raindrops like nobody's business, and it isn't long after he notices this that he's sinking down and pressing his whole body and head to the ground as if to wet the bottom of the sails as well as the rest of him. His head does, however, scrape against the ground just enough to catch sight of Nora leaving. Look at my impression of a pancake, Nora. Look look.

He doesn't say 'wait wait' but perhaps she imagines it's there in D'tri's tone, because Nora turns back, a brief pass of her eyes over the prostrate dragon before she stares unamused at his rider. "He doesn't mean to be, but he's dangerous. Or do I really have to say 'somebody could get hurt'?" And with that she flings her arm up in display for him, wrist bent back, showing the angry lines of welts that give way to broken skin, the still-trickling blood. There's more she wants to say, it bristles under the slow inhale of a breath and flashes there in her eyes. But in the end, what comes out is: "You don't fool me, Dimitri." Perhaps in less tense circumstances she'll actually manage to call him by his new name. "You're not stupid. Act that way if you want to, but don't be stupid." Her hand goes up then to stop whatever he might be about to say, as if she can keep him from proving her wrong immediately.

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth senses that he creeps in like moss on flaking metal, then all at once with a flutter of avian wings and the rumble of a shipwreck all a-shudder: « Nora's mad at D'tri because I did a thing! He's very confused. » A gravelly echo sends dust onto already lifeless surfaces.

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth senses that Ilayth's tone is whipcrack; commanding. Assertive. « What happened? » An explanation is required.

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth senses that Talicanitath glimmers and glitters as mental diamonds catch the light and create a halo of rainbows. Amusement radiates throughout, touching briefly on the minds of those gathered at Southern Weyr. « Awww, babies! » Truly a maternal moment, even for dragonets not her own. « Aren't they simply //adorable? » And completely not her problem.//

Chorzeczoyth is the first of the offending pair to move, craning his neck for a yawn without his blue (is that a whirl of orange, slowly overtaking?) eyes being taken off of Nora. But he stays a pancake. He's committed. "… No, I'm not." D'tri answers with his eyebrows lifting seemingly of their own accord, regardless of Nora raising her hand. Though it does get a brief look of consideration before it is pointedly ignored, his expression quickly changing to one part smug, one part confused. "And you're fine! It was a—" His own hands gesture wildly but make nothing clear, "A hiccup! These things happen!" Only now does Chorzeczoyth's head lift, before the rest of the bronze follows to allow him to traipse over to D'tri's side. "… It's just a scratch!" There isn't, but there might as well be a 'right?' attached to this statement.

It hardly matters to Nora if she's boring the young bronze. At least he's still flattened in the mud and no longer quite so close to creating a stampede. But when D'tri does just what she hoped he wouldn't, there's only the press of her lips and the shake of her head, droplets dancing from her hat brim. Whatever defense he might like to present, the headman's assistant doesn't want to hear it. By the time Chorzeczoyth is at his rider's side, Nora and her scratch are already walking away.

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth's interest in these shimmers and glitters and all things shiny is as clear as daylight. Really bight daylight. « I ate a thing! » Comes rumbled from the blinding sight, « And also almost an arm, a little. I wanted the thing. I have the thing. »

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth senses that Dhiammarath buffers all of the younglings from Ilayth's (and Ja'kai's) wrath; all but the errant son who's left exposed. Jade-infused serenity bubbles the others in their own little world, able to hear the quiet rumbles but the intensity of the emotion is subdued. « Chorzeczoyth. » Reprimand, however gentle, stirs the jewel-crusted sand, exposing the vast rock garden that stretches into infinity beneath a twilight sky. Stars shine like diamonds against the azure-shadowed sky. Candlelight dances. Yet, it is also subtle command, reinforcing Ilayth's.

Once more there's silence, save for the slowly calming runners in the background and the drip of the ongoing storm still rushing overhead. D'tri doesn't have a hat for the rain to run off of, and simply stands in slowly darkening shirt, water running down his neck. Only when Nora is far enough away that she can only just catch it, there is a GROAN from Weyrling to bronze, and a series of strangely mechanical-sounding whining click whirrs from the small dragon's throat. "If I weren't smart— I'd go to my wagon. But you and your friends wouldn't like that, would they." His arms fly up in frustration, like he's lost control of his muscles in an attempt to rid himself of some frustration. But soon after, he puts on his best brave face, and lightly kicks the heel of a boot at the bronze's tail. "Come on. Let's not keep 'em waiting. Let's put on our best show."

<Southern Weyr> Chorzeczoyth's presence quietens, back down to the ever present shifting of rock and leaves moving at the mercy of wind. « I ate the thing. » Once more, an empty echo, devoid of anticipation for whatever consequences may await anyone in particular. « We're coming back. »

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